What's Left After

For a friend who recently ended a relationship. I think that the hardest part of break-ups, is getting through the identity crisis that is triggered afterwards. What was half of your life--or at least a large part of your life--is gone. You are no longer Mary & Joe anymore, you are just Mary or just Joe. While spending time alone can be liberating, it can be frightening at first. This poem is about dealing with these challenges.

What's Left After

Sitting on the floor, your
back against the door,
knees crouched in at your chest.

He left hours ago, but the fabric
of your clothes and sheets, is
still saturated with his scent.

Your heart begins to race
at the sound of footsteps in
the stairwell, but the sound fades--
and the room grows quiet.

Across the room, your dinner plate
sits on the kitchen counter,
the vegetables withered and cold,
the meat limp.

You just need a little more time,
to figure out what's left of you
now that he's gone.

Fall Food

PUMPKIN SOUP with PUMPKIN BREAD

At this time of year, when the air gets a little cooler, the leaves change, and entryways are all accented with pumpkins, I love cooking seasonal dishes. Although the pumpkin puree used in this dish was not from the farmer's market, the carrots, celery, cilantro, onion, and garlic were!

Favorite Movie of 2007: "After the Wedding"

This movie is absolutely exquisite. It is a Danish movie with English subtitles. The cinematography is beautiful, specifically the angles of the characters (pay attention to where the camera focuses) as well as the fleeting images througout the film which signify a lot and offer foreshadowing. These second long frames are not pointless, take note of them.

The acting is excellent, each character is fully developed and you feel as though you understand each character more than in most movies. You will cry while watching this movie, but you will hopefully adore the richness of the film and the story. I have seen it twice and plan to continue to watch it again and again.

Rating: A+

Why You Shouldn't Go To Law School

Today's Wall Street Journal included an article entitled: "Hard Case: Job Market Wanes for U.S. Lawyers: Growth of Legal Sector Lags Broader Economy, Law Schools Proliferate."

As I embark on my third year in law school, I find this article particularly relevant, as feelings of regret, doubt, fear, and desperation are mounting despite the fact that it is only September. I have heard so many young college kids, or recent graduates, talk about how they'll go to law school as if it is the answer to their problems, the gateway to a pot of gold. Unfortunately, only a select few will find themselves surrounded in riches. But more to the point, life for many who do excel is not what most of us would call enjoyable. Those who do excel will log countless hours getting to, and staying at, the top, and likely do not have a great deal of time for relationships or a social life.

Surfing the web, I also found this very good reason not to attend law school:

Reason 13. Bad Eyes, Bad Backs, General Sickliness

During your three years of pre-Esquire servitude, you are almost guaranteed to develop one or all of the following physical deformities: bad eyes, a bad back and general sickliness.
General Sickliness: Nowhere breathes a weaker-constitutioned, more out of shape, more pallid group than in a law school classroom. Most within their walls suffer from nonspecific symptoms of exhaustion, mild nausea and poor circulation. When consulted, doctors normally shrug and smile maliciously--having felt even worse throughout med school. Sufferers--and that includes almost all law students, with the possible exceptions of The Drudge, The Compulsive Talker and The Ass Kisser--want to go to bed and pull the covers over their heads for three years. Of those who do, 100% have reportedly been cured. The great suffering majority, however, swig from bottles of Maalox and plug along, saving their bile for that savorous day when they file their first medical malpractice action. . .
From Don't be a Fool--Stay Out of School; 29 Reasons Not to Go to Law School by Ralph Warner, Toni Ihara & Barbara Kate Repa.

This I can particularly relate to. Since entering law school I have developed a bursitis in my left hip joint as well as snapping hip syndrome (due to too much sitting), as well as slight onset of drier, older looking skin around my eyes that I am constantly battling with my weapon of choice: Anti-wrinkle smoothing cream (likely meant for women over the age of 40). I of course, am not in as bad as shape as some others because I try my best to continue going to the gym, although at the moment I am not in shape and sorely in need of several hours on the elliptical followed by a long run. I hope to God that I can afford lypo when I get a job.

Advice: Pursue the other "dreams" you have and think through all other alternatives before going to law school. Unless of course you are destined for success at one of the Ivy's and you care little for having an active social life.

Insight before Flight

Over the past twent-six years I have flown numerous times, the majority of those times alone. The first time I flew toute seule, I was in middle school. It was the summer after my mother served my father with divorce papers, which occurred in May. I was sent to stay with my cousins in Northern California, 3000 miles away from home, so that I would be shielded from the chaos and also out of my parents already distressed hair. That summer offered me a great deal of relaxation and provided an escape from a home that often felt more like a war zone, where I was forced to take sides in a political war I opposed. The years that followed the divorce have a great deal to do with the pleasure I get from flying alone.

It wasn’t until I attended college that I began to fly alone more frequently, and it was at this time that I began to take interest in the feelings that seemed to surface while I wandered and waited in the airport. First and foremost, I felt incredibly independent flying alone, managing my baggage, finding the gate, waiting to board, and immersing myself in a book. I enjoyed the feeling of people’s eyes sizing me up, and especially the seldom occurrence where a man’s eyes would remain fixed on me for more than few seconds. I like the mystery of the airport, where no one knows a thing about me (other than the security staff and airline attendants) where I am from, where I am traveling, why I am traveling. No one knows what I am escaping or to what I am forced to return. Of course for a while, the former was college and the latter was home—a home that housed only miserable memories for me for a very long time.

Unlike cafes, or libraries, or park benches, the airport has often allowed me the most clarity of thought. Perhaps this is because for a time, the airport was one of few places where I could escape all pressures, all echoes of criticism and unmet expectations. Of course the gift of clarity often brought sadness, or feelings of emptiness. Regardless, it is the place where I have undoubtedly gained insight on the happenings and people in my life.

The past several years, I noticed that the clarity I felt during my college years had faded, and all but disappeared. That is, until this very trip from Alaska back to California, where I now reside. I have been gone for six weeks, the longest time I have been alone, in a sense, for four years. Although I am generally very happy with my life, I have found in these past six weeks that I am a creature dependant upon the ability to escape. This is another trait, or perhaps more accurately called a habit, that I have acquired from my father, who now lives overseas.

I decided to go to Alaska for a summer legal internship last November. It was a decision that I took very little time to digest, perhaps only a week in full, but one that I in no way regret. However, for several months I feared that I had made the wrong decision, that I was leaving behind my life and that perhaps when I returned it would no longer be intact. This year, our fifth year together, has been the most difficult one for my relationship. It was for that reason I feared that I was doing more than leaving for ten weeks, that it was possible I was abandoning a relationship I was tired of fixing.

Turning on my computer, waiting for the screen to load, I notice I am fidgeting in the same way that my father does. I rustle my middle and forefingers against my thumb. Last time I saw my father type, I remember him pausing, thinking of the next phrase to write, and in those moments where the wheels in his mind were turning fast, his fingers moved quickly as if to rub an invisible substance on his skin. I don’t know how we pick up these minor habits, habits with no purpose, habits which have never been pushed upon us. This fidgeting of my fathers hands, and now my own, seems to signify their frustration.

I think that one very valuable trait, which seems to be increasingly loosing its glory, is the ability to spend time alone for the sole purpose of seeking clarity of thought. In addition to granting perspective on the troubles and worries of life, spending significant time apart from loved ones also grants a rebirth of independence. I am not speaking of the sort of rebelious independence that you seek as an adolescent, but an independence which reminds you that you are more than the relationships you are in, the jobs you take, and the city where you live. Remembering the thoughts which propped up in one's mind before life got too busy to eat sitting down and learning how to enjoy nights alone--a sort of independence from all habits, all routines, and all roles.