{Nest.} Tumblr

To all who are dear to me enough that I shared the link of this blog with you:

Here is my tumblr that I intend to keep active...I'm planning to make it like my Bwog, posting about relatively random things that I want to share with other ppl. There is also some kind of schedule...so. Enjoy. What's better, follow. =D

Today, I got my paper back...

And my final draft's grade was lower than the first draft's....

[Blabber] New Post on my views on ROTC and human nature

Ugh...it's late...and I have tons of hw that was due more than ten hours ago...but...intellectual curiosity triumphs homework...so...here it is, the latest post on my public blog.

Now, homework time.

A Poem

Here is a beautiful poem I came across with through watching a Chinese drama...probably the most superficial way there is. At first people were saying that this was written by the sixth Dalai Lama...but hm...apparently that was a misunderstanding. It was written by a female poet. Regardless, it's very very beautiful. I'm no translator of poems, but in order to share this with all of you, I'd try my best. The names of the poem and author are direct translations from Chinese...= =

班扎古鲁白玛的沉默
Banzhagulubaima's Silence

作者：扎西拉姆·多多
Written by Zhaxilamu Duoduo


你见 或者不见我
Whether or not you come to see me,

我就在那里/不悲不喜
I'm there, neither sad nor happy

你念 或者不念我
Whether or not you think about me,

情就在那里/不来不去
my feelings are there, neither coming nor leaving

你爱 或者不爱我
Whether or not you love me,

爱就在那里/不增不减
my love is there, neither increasing nor decreasing

你跟 或者不跟我
Whether or not you follow me,

我的手就在你手里/不舍不弃
my hands are in your hands, never letting go

来我的怀里/
Come to my chest,

或者/让我住进你的心间
or, let me move into your heart

默然 相爱
Silently, love

寂静 欢喜
Quietly, rejoice

Bubble of Idealism

Like the many people of my age,
I have idealistic visions of my life and the grander world.
I believe that I would be happier in the future
working for something I genuinely enjoy
than working for something I do not enjoy
but is promised with great monetary reward.

I have faith in human rationality,
and I believe that there is a poignant and meaningful story
out of every seemingly retarded choices that people make everyday.

I think if I work hard enough,
I would make a difference.
And that's all it matters in the end.

But I am experiencing this ever-growing anxiety
that this bubble of idealism of mine
will gradually grow bigger and bigger and then...
burst.

It's a strange feeling...
Right now, I am more certain than ever about my idealistic visions
At the same time, though
there is something very unreal about idealism
just by definition.

I'm deeply afraid that one day,
maybe one, three, ten years later,
I'd wake up and realize these things that I now believe in are all untrue.
or maybe they are still true,
but I would have already been so worn out
by the cruelties of adulthood and reality that I no longer believes in these beautiful ideas.

Frightening thought.
To the me now,
it's like living without a soul.

Like death.

One day

This probably belongs to the few rare spontaneous things I've ever done in my life, but I did write an email at 3 in the morning to a person that I've been avoiding for a very long time. I am not an person of eventful history. There is only so much memory I can actually hold on to. I don't want the ending of this part of the memory stay the same until I die. I want to give it a good ending. Or at least attempt to do that. Maybe the person won't even see that email. But at least I tried.




Hi,

How are you? It’s been a while since we last talked, and the last time we did it ended sort of strange. Every time when I’m reminded of, for whatever reason, the four years of pure nothingness between us, who could have become really good friends, I think again and again of my stupidity. I have long forgotten the reasons for why I did what I did; all I was left with was the mystically determined will that I must continue doing what I had been doing, which was nothing. I used silence as a defensive mechanism for starting and ending something I did not quite understand, and that costly price was a friend. From time to time in the past four years, I’ve gone back reflecting on those meager bits and pieces of memory there were, and I realized uncountable mistakes I’d made and selfish things I’d done. Each time it put me to deeper shame. Deeper and deeper mortifying shame. I tried to lesson my own pain by running away from that shame. I didn’t realize the running away was a bigger mistake than any other mistake I had ever made. Now I see how petty these feelings were. How trivial the shame that stood between me and simply talking was. If I were given another chance, I wish I could have learned more about you, and been a better friend. I imagine one day, we would meet again on the streets of Fort Lee, maybe at the basketball court that you used to go, and I would say, Hey, haven’t seen you in a while. How’s life. But I know this is just a ridiculous and passively romantic imagination, so I’m writing you this letter to take the first step of filling that four years of gap.

I’m really sorry.

Xinyi