In August and September of this year, when all the newspapers and magazines featured cover stories with photos of laid off bankers walking out of Lehman Brothers, of stock markets plummeting, and of traders freaking out, I reveled at the expense of all those greedy Wall Street bankers who, in order to make a pretty penny, approved and executed some outright ridiculous, illogical transactions. I also felt triumphant that, despite pressure from Brown’s career services (which seemed only to push us towards corporate careers), I did not sell out to all the big businesses that flooded to campus last fall.  How do you like them apples, Ivy Leaguers? Finally, they can suffer, too.

Who am I kidding, they’ll all be [financially] better off than I would ever be. I’m just jealous of their flossy flossy lives. Can I get a little monetary love here?

On a more serious note, I soon realised that in the end, sure, some i-bankers peril, but the crisis hits hardest for those who aren’t making over $100,000 a year. For example, it affects people who, because of the instability of the financial market, choose not to purchase flowers at my mother’s shop. The lack of consumer spending is eroding confidence in markets, which snowballs into wider implications for our national, and international markets. And while I wish Congress didn’t pass the $700 billion bailout plan so the companies who fucked things up in the first place could decide how to clean up this mess, that’s not how the world works.

Tom Friedman said it well:

We need a leader who can look the country in the eye and say clearly: “We have not seen this before. There are only two choices now, folks: doing everything we can to shore up banks and homeowners or risk a systemic meltdown.”

Yes, that may mean rescuing some bankers who don’t deserve rescuing, while also helping prudent bankers who were doing the right things. And, yes, that may mean rescuing reckless home buyers who never should have taken out mortgages and now can’t pay them back, while not aiding people who saved prudently and are still meeting their mortgage payments.

No, it’s not fair. But fairness is not on the menu anymore. We will deal with that later. Right now we need to throw everything we can at this problem to make sure this recession doesn’t spiral down into a depression. This is no time for half-measures.

Things got worse, and persisted through the summer, long after hayfever season. After finally visiting an allergist this summer, I found out that I had developed an allergy to dust. I took antibiotics that cleared up my nose, but I still had a phlegm issue that often left me short of breath.

It was hard to figure out what was going on, primarily because I was moving around so much. By the time I went to the doctor at Brown, I had a few months left before going to New York for the summer, then home for two weeks, and then off to China.

I went to the hospital at Harbin Institute of Technology, and getting any help from the doctors was impossible. The doctor asked what was wrong, I started to explain, but before I got into my medical history she was pretty much done listening. Instead of asking questions about my condition, she asked if I was Korean. Then before I knew it, a crowd of people were standing 6 inches behind me, waiting for me to finish so they can be seen next. The doctor gave me a prescription for some useless pills and shoo’ed me away.

I often have these “I’m going to die from a collapsed lung or phlegm-filled lung” moments. So yesterday I went to Harbin’s “best” hospital and this is what I left the hospital with:

It was assuring to have an x-ray taken and have the doctor say that nothing was wrong with my lungs. And now, if anything pops up again, I have something tangible to show the next doctor I see. And it’s also awesome when I get to keep x-rays of myself. You can’t see it too well the above photo, but I didn’t take my necklace off and you can see a little silver airplane.

Here’s hoping the mountain of pills I was prescribed work!

It doesn’t really feel great, but it definitely feels good to be done with that routine. At least temporarily. It seems like the consensus among my peers. But at the same time, a lot of people seem unready to cope with this closure. Those who feel that way say, “I’ll see you soon! We don’t have to say goodbye yet.”

If there is a word to describe the past week or so, I think it’d be “rollercoaster.” My life has been a whirlwind of love and spite, laughs and tears, frustration and content–just a huge amalgamation of emotions. I am unspeakably sad, but happy from all the memories created in the past four years. Most importantly, though, I am absolutely ready to move on. I was ready to say some goodbyes, even though I did not say as many as I should have or could have. But I know that those who matter to me most will never be too far, even as I fly off to another country in August.

Speaking of flying to other countries, I got notified earlier on 30 May that I received both a language enhancement award as well as gain acceptance into my study abroad program in the fall for that language award. Things are finally coming together, and before I know it, I’ll be on flying on a jet plane to China!

Tomorrow, I will be completely moving in to my NYC apartment. Having already moved a carload of stuff to the place, I thought that I’d only need to take a bus and a subway to get to my Lower East Side abode. Unfortunately, things started amassing and I realised that I needed to rent a car. Wooosh. That’s the sound of money disappearing from my bank account. Well, regardless of being a huge financial kick in the ass, I am really excited to be living in Manhattan this summer.

Is this how Brown works? Unclear signals, discreet hints, overt sexual frustration? Have I finally uncovered the secret to a Brown relationship?

And now I couldn’t be more sure of it.

Oh, and tell your friends the dust mites to bite me, but not literally. Or at least tell them to stop defecating on my pillow (see, Wikipedia, “Asthma,” where it says that “the microscopic house dust mite feces that surround a pillow when your head hits it or you turn over in bed” cause allergies and asthma).

Sincerely,
A suffering victim

Nevertheless, despite my ambitions, I still think about the complexities, paradoxes, and contradictions of my most recent escapade. How can you tell me we were moving too fast when twenty-four hours ago you were asking, “Are you on birth control?” Then, you advocate for taking a step back. Sure, sounds great, I agree, let’s do it. Then come the rules: no kissing, no touching, no this, no that. The next time we saw each other, we didn’t even hug. How’s that for toying with your emotions? Thoughts like these continue to bog me down, right when I least need this emotional burden.

Unfortunately, when I’m upset, I also shut down. I never get to voice my concerns because I don’t say what I feel when I feel it. I’m one of those “I-just-hung-up-after-an-important-interview-and-remembered-everything-I-was-supposed-to-say” types of people. Prying words out of me can be compared to pulling the sword out of the stone, except without that magic asshole named Arthur who pulls it out. Maybe one day when a magic asshole can pull the sword from the stone with me, I’ll know he’s the one. Unless he’s like 12-years-old and/or the future King of England (what can I say, the royal life just isn’t for me, though it’d make a great reality TV show).

I know the world won’t end. Maybe I used this situation as an excuse both justify a good cry and tell myself that I am ready to graduate and move on. While many others in this emotional state vow to never let a man take advantage of them again, shun all men as pigs, blah blah blah, I won’t. Does your swearing off men do anything to change their behavior? No, it just means they’re going to be fucking someone else.

Here’s to letting go and smiling again.

I’m currently working on a final exam for an introduction to European history course (I detest this class; it is the bane of my Concentration Requirement Existence). Basically it’s Bull Shitting 101. Although I thought I’d never get tired of it, I am. I’m tired of comparing and contrasting “war reparations” and “The Marshall Plan,” and, “Auschwitz” and “The Somme” in 350 words or less. It is times like this when I wish I had studied harder to get that 5 on the AP Euro exam…

Ughaldhaskjh, 4 a.m. ramblings. Nothing worthy to report at this hour.

Really? REALLY?? I spent my entire year slaving over these forty-two thousand one hundred and forty-four words and that’s all you have to say to me? I didn’t even get a “Congratulations” or a call when they received it. Damn, it really hurts.