As Serious As Your Life

Last weekend was a spontaneous trip to New York City. One night only. Crashed at Lindsay and Sam's place. Saw Vi too. Caught up with Tenev and James at the Natural History Museum. Later that night I went to their house in Brooklyn, where Tenev and James lived with their band's guitarist Ryan, and recorded a bass part for one of their songs. Ryan and James seemed to like it. Then we headed back to Manhattan to go to some bar in Union Square; everyone was wearing collared shirts, in case we decided to go to a place that had a dress code, but I hadn't brought a collared shirt of any sort to New York. Borrowed one of Ryan's, but my New Balances still showed. Fortunately the place we went to wasn't anything classy, after all. Peter bought us car bombs; however, eventually they got bored and headed back to Brooklyn. I was crashing at Lindsay's in Tribeca, so I opted to stay in Manhattan; Lindsay was still at a party in Brooklyn, so I found myself with a couple of hours to spare to wander Manhattan, alone. I decided to call up Jai, whom I hadn't seen in nearly three years; it was an out-of-the-blue thing, as nobody except Lindsay, Tenev, and John really knew I was going to be in New York. I met her outside a club on 8th Ave. She was drunk and up against a wall with a guy she introduced to me as her "promoter friend." We went back to Union Square to get her a sandwich, and then we sat around and talked about the past three years. She told me about her troubles with her brother, and her ex-boyfriend in Korea, with whom she had an obsessive long-distance relationship; I told her about Patrice and the aftermath thereof. We found ourselves in similar places: needing to recover from being as overly critical of people and relationships, as we have become through our respective paths, and to relearn how to have unreserved feelings for someone again. It's not something I particularly want to admit, but compared to high school--when I was consistently in love with one girl or another for at least two years--I am, relatively speaking, somewhat emotionally deadened. But I suppose that's something that had to happen sooner or later. Like chicken pox. I have never had chicken pox. Neverless, when we parted at 4AM, after a carful of Asian guys drove by catcalling, it was an emotional parting. And Manhattan at 4AM did not feel like 4AM.

I've been tired all day. Probably had something to do with how I only slept four hours last night. According to plan, I'm going to the airport in just over ten hours, and I never sleep well before traveling; the prospect gets me wound up too much.

Actually, that only applies to traveling home. Left to my own will, e.g. any of the three trips I took this summer (Pitchfork, Pittsburgh, New York City), I'd just put all my toiletries in a plastic bag, toss that and a few days' clothing in a suitcase along with some books and maybe a CD wallet, and that would be that. Hell, I could probably make a weekend with nothing but a backpack. But with going home, presentation matters. I'm so compromising and non-confrontational at the worst of times.

But then, in the eyes of my mother, I'll always be only as old as when I left home, which was fifteen, inconsiderate, and still trying to grow out of the blank stare I'd probably had since birth. With her--as I suppose it is with everyone and their parents--I'll forever be proving myself, that I can accomplish things and meet deadlines without her reminding me all the time, that I can lead a civilized and hygienic lifestyle, that I eat all my daily food groups and won't starve, that I get enough sleep (or can make do without), etc. And it's not like "I'm alright" will ever suffice; it's like linear algebra all over again, rigorous proofs, show your work, and so on. If I don't spell it out for her, she just won't believe me, and sometimes not even when I do. And even those things I do prove myself capable of I have to re-prove time and again; you'd think that, seeing as I've already survived two years of not relying on the school to feed me, one should be able to take for granted I can cook for myself and get away with it, but you'd be wrong.

The truth is, I never had much of an inclination to prove myself to anyone else; it's only when people's opinions affect my opinion of myself that things start to matter, which isn't something that happens very often. I've no interest in proving to other people I can do things I myself know very well I can do. Of course, that's not something one can ever hammer into one's own mother's brain. I know very well that she does it because she feels that's what she must do to fulfill her sense of responsibility, being manically task-oriented and all--she's the kind of person who believes that one's raison d'être is derived from one's responsibilities, while I believe it's derived from one's impulses--but, heartless as it may sound, I don't feel like that should obligate me to act as though I were less than I know I am. Does that contradict my sympathetic ideal?

Paradoxically, I'm as much a confidant to her as anything else, and these days I have to explain to her how certain aspects of the world work more often than the other way around.

In any case, I wonder if it would be preferable to consider this trip just like any of the ones I mentioned, except longer, farther, and less fun. (Though that perspective certainly doesn't make it any more appealing.) I've got three days' clothing and my GRE studying material in my suitcase already; just need to get a CD selection together, make sure I've got my passport, computer and chargers, and I'll be good to go. I was going to disassemble my Jazz Bass copy and bring it back for Ben, but the neck would probably get fucked up in transit. It's probably best to not waste unnecessary time thinking about this shit; after all, the more I let myself worry, the more worry the issue will seem to warrant.

It looks as though I'll be very busy these next two weeks. Besides the aforementioned GRE studying, I've also got to crunch data for my project (for which I am apparently getting first author credit--yes!). Mikhail told me he wants to present it as a poster at artificial membranes workshop in Germany at the end of September, which means we have approximately two weeks after I come back to Baltimore before he and Edwin go to the workshop. Obviously not enough time to fit possibly near 200 sets of impedance spectroscopy data and make it presentable, especially considering the first week I'll be simultaneously jetlagged by twelve hours and trying to do last-minute preps for the GRE. Which, I suppose, means I shall be taking my work home with me.

I wonder if this means I'm turning into a workaholic. I'm turning into my uncle, at the very least; he carries his mathematics stuff every time he visits, or we go somewhere on vacation. Which didn't seem very reasonable when I was younger, but it doesn't seem so bad when I think about it now; after all, when I settle down (whenever that is), I don't want to switch gears multiple times in a single day, from scientist to husband (possibly) to father (possibly) to amateur musician to whatever, and back. I want unity; I want to be the same person no matter what I am doing; I want every aspect of my life to be underlaid by the same philosophy, sensibility, logic.

In that sense, at least, I suppose I am still somewhat immature.

And maybe I am getting used to research as a way of life. I spent all today in the lab, trying to fit model circuits to my impedance data, and my mind just couldn't focus for very long on the fact that I was going home in less than a day; all I could maintain my concentration on was the work. As if I shouldn't've in all likelihood gone home early to pack. Maybe that just makes me a routineaholic, I don't know. But I don't think I could get addicted to a routine of doing nothing. (I tried.)

I've been thinking about the civil service thing again. You know, that thing that male Taiwanese citizens are constitutionally bound to do. I know I said I was considering taking a year or two off before grad school to git'r done, but the more I think about it, the less appealing that seems. This science thing, right now, I feel like I want to do it, I feel like I can; I feel like trying to complete my PhD and getting a job that will get me an H-1 visa before age 30 is a fairly calculated gamble. I feel like this track I'm on is going too well to pause right now, even if only for a year or two.

But I may have another day. Word is that a major typhoon is blowing through Taiwan right now. If the flight's cancelled, I won't leave for another day at least. I am secretly hoping that will happen. Sort of like how I was secretly hoping I would miss the flight home and be stranded in New York, freshman year winter break. Still, there's not a whole lot in Baltimore for me in the near future. Most of the people are gone. I have a strange ambivalent feeling about this trip home: if it's long enough for me to get cabin fever, I'll be able to get work done, and if it's not long enough to get work done, it'll be too short to get cabin fever. (The possibility that it could simultaneously be long enough to induce cabin fever and be too short to get anything done in seems unlikely, irrationally.) Still, I think I'm growing out of the twice-a-year-two-weeks-each visitation quota. After I graduate (assuming I don't get shipped back), it's probably going to have to go down to two weeks a year.

Still, though. I won't really be blamed for treating every time I leave like it's the last time. For all I know, it could be. And with what I've seen, that can be a very persuasive argument. So I make sure my goodbyes are in place. And my journal entries, of course.

Not much left to say. Not much left to do but get my things together, and reassure myself that Baltimore and everything will still be around when I return, and that, if I'm fortunate, I'll still be around to return to it.