I figured it was about time to do a total update of my second semester as a sophomore in school in NYC. It’s been a doozy, if people even still say that. In bullet points I guess I could type out
Not much college activity. Just career activity. I suppose that’s why I haven’t been able to update much of anything in the past four months. For now I’ve retired to Georgia to recover, then back to South Florida for a while. I’ll probably dabble in writing about what I’ve been doing with NBC and what is going on in my personal life. THEN I travel to Washington D.C. to see the presidential inauguration. Stay tuned for the exciting… excuse me… exhausting life.
And here is where it gets real. Winds speeds rapidly picking up past the glass windows as it tremors violently. Distance sirens echo in the far distance as the approach closer to the hospital only a few blocks away. The winds are whipping dangerously now. Ghostly wails penetrate all corners of the building. A reminder of the outside terrors, threatening floods of the East and Hudson that surround this island. New York City seems so small now, compared to these dangerous howls and thrashing sheets of rain that batter us. It is 6:35pm and the evening is as black as the midnight. Sandy blankets the Northeast with her shadows. Something darkly poetic emerges from this ominous situation. Something of Gothic entertainment as we pull up the blinds and watch the winds tug and pull at the window’s glass, and the pelting rains like piercing arrows into those futile souls who walk their dogs down the sidewalk to relieve themselves. There is an eerie silence in the room (maybe because my roommate refuses to put the fan on… stupid humidity) but in that silence, the haunting howls of danger looms over us, miles wide.
I would have updated last night but due to my current roommate situation, I had 3 hours sleep and was thus exhausted. So Monday… was crazy. I have 2 classes, a 10am and a 7-10pm, 2 extremes of the day. During the time where I didn’t have class I was running all over the building trying to take the steps to get credit for my internship. A good portion of my day was waiting around for certain people to sign a piece of paper. I’d rather not go into details for a play-by-play.
However, I would like to talk about my roommate. You never really think you’re going to meet a person who is the exact opposite of you… well I have. She is timid, wormy-looking, quiet, takes forever to get her point across, anti-social, and reads 8-10hrs a day in her bed on her Nook. She’s an organic based vegetarian from California. I’ll level with you, to me she is the stereotypical vegetarian. Granted I have several vegetarian friends, I have several friends who are gluten-free/organic, they look and act like normal people of society. This girl…. she looks sick!! She has no color, her eyes bug out, and her face looks like it’s sunken in! She’s completely an odd duck, she stays up until 2am every night reading!! @#$%, I’m trying to get some sleep for an 8am class!! She won’t speak for hours at a time then out of nowhere she won’t shut up. It’s weird. She says she’s got friends but she never leaves the room or turns on the TV. I don’t like this girl… the exact opposite. She only buys “green” products, “they only cost a little bit more”. Honey, I’m in college and I’m not working this semester. YOU can pay a little more, the environment is just going to have to wait until I come across some extra cash in life. I’m in college, I need to take care of ME before I take care of the world. Anyway, despite what I said she went out and bought green cleaning products, shoot, I’m not splitting the bill! I plan on changing roommates after this week (once I find out if my friend is going to be moving in the same residence hall as me).
I did see the Olympic gymnast Aly Raisman on my way to school this morning! I was walking up Lexington Avenue and she was walking down, her hair in a ponytail and I thought about stopping her and telling her, “hey, has anyone ever told you that you look like the gymnast Aly Raisman?” Once I got back to the apartment this afternoon, Twitter confirmed she was in New York. My first thought was “dang she’s tiny!” Ryan Locte is supposed to be here today as well.
On a more somber note, today is September 11th. Respects to those families who lost a loved one, and gratitude’s towards the rescuers who lost lives in the tragic event that We Will Never Forget. All downtown trains are packed, trains heading towards the resting place of brave Americans. I would go myself if I didn’t have to make final arrangements on my internship. There is a heaviness here in New York, and it is palpable. Not a single New Yorker doesn’t feel the weight of the memory that is now American history.
Loooooooooooooooooooong day. After an 8:30am class and returning from a class ending at 10pm, plus dealing with the morning and evening commute from the transit system, I’m surprised I’m even alive. I was too tired to talk to the hot guy in the elevator with my on the ridce up to my floor. Yes, gregarious and manipulative little me was too tired to utter 2 words to a beautiful young man-who-lives-on-the-15th-floor-but-probably-works-out-in-the-gym-downstairs-so-I’ll probably-see-him-again. Anyways, let’s discuss my classes for today shall we? I wake up at 7am, catch the 7:30 train (rush hour) down to 68th and go to psych class.
I’m not entirely sure if I like the class or not. It’s taught by this funny Puerto Rican woman who works in the fertility and maternity department at Cornell University. Her lecture didn’t match the power point so I’m not entirely sure where this is going. Just to give you an example of how much of a morning person I am, she began to discuss the Little Albert Case, I swore that was a musical until I came back to the dorms and realized it was Lil’ Abner I was thinking of. Go me, confusing an emotionally traumatized little boy with a Broadway revival… I go back to the dorms until 5pm, take the rush hour train back to Marymount and go to sociology. Ok, so I think in the past when I said, “I want to take a sociology class” I was either referring to anthropology or the history in sociology because I’m not sure if it’s this professor or the subject that’s just dull. The prof is from England… but his accent swaps in and out during his lectures. He has this horrible tenor voice, that he begins every sentence in this high pitch like he’s about to say something exciting, but the pitch never goes down to a lull where you can have a conscious thought… oh my goodness… I can compare his voice to an alarm clock going off in the morning. So today, while he was discussing the basics of sociology (which is exactly what we read in the book) I sat in the back and tried to mentally slam my hand on the alarm clock that is his voice. Probably the best class I’ve have is Interpersonal Communications, my 7:30-10pm class. The content of the course is interesting, the way we communicate through relationships and media. And me, being myself, the people-person, this is incredibly useful in the way I’ll maintain relationships at home and in the workplace. The professor reminds me of Valarie Bertinelli… voice, personality, even in the face! The class is, yes, long but I’m actually focusing in this class because she makes it a personal affair. I can’t wait to see where this goes. Altogether, I’m liking being a Comm. Arts major, less physical work is required in the classes, it’s more thought provoking and gearing towards the future, versus my English classes of last year, “write a 5 page paper on why the author did this and shows how femininity is being undermined” …. versus “communication can views through all types of media, including touch, sound, even taste”. Granted that might not be exciting to you but it is to me.
I have returned! I’m tougher, more experienced, ballsy, and altogether bad@$$-ier! This is my second year in Manhattan and probably the last as far as my college career is concerned. Fret not, because I’m planning to move to Los Angles in the fall of 2013, so I’ll be sure to fill you in on all my transfer application worries and obstacles. It’ll be like from GA to FL to NY to LA! The roadmap for me, personally, is to finish the year with another Deans List recognition and finish sophomore year with a 3.6 or higher, as I currently have a 3.5. Anywho, This has been the second day of class and I’m currently living up at 98th Street and 3rd Ave and the school is down on 71st Street, so I’ve been traveling via subway and bus to navigate around here.
Move-in day was Saturday morning, quick and painless in a brand new shiny building that we share with Baruch, Hunter, and LIM Colleges so there are plenty of people around here. The building is about 16 stories high and is fashioned like a hotel, with multiple dorrs and hallways leading to about 15 to 20 rooms along the walls. Each room has 2 twin beds, dressers and desks, a full batheroom, a fridge, microwave, and AC unit. Oh yeah, and a TV/DVD player with digital cable complete with DVR. Guess who’s taping BONES when she has night class? This chick. The rooms are nicer, cleaner tiles, cleaner bathroom and the bathroom wall is yellow, not my first choice in choosing a color but hey, in this humid and overcast weather it can definitely brighten a day.
Let me paint a picture here of move in: I stroll in with two bags, sign in at registration desk, walk through the turntables that need your building photo ID cardkey, walk into the elevator corridor that houses 8 elevators, travel to the 10th floor, navigate around the floor plan to the side of the building where my room is. Just like a hotel needs a card key entrance, so does my dorm. Fancy, right? I’m on the 10th floor facing 97th Street.
My things were stored out on Long Island for the summer by my best friend’s family, wonderful and genuinely good people. On Sunday, her uncle came and dropped off my things and I set up my room and enjoyed the rest of my day watching TV, planning for my interview, and rearranging my classes. I also went down to the basement of the building which holds a full gym, rec room, laundry, and library. Yes, I do love my dorm.
After Labor Day school started and… well I skipped my classes for the morning to go to Midtown at Rockefeller Center for my LXTV NBC interview with Life&Style Televison. It went very well… after getting lost for about 20 minutes in the main Rockefeller Center tower, navigating help from about 8 people, I find out I’m the tower adjacent to the main tower… awkward. However, I did get to see the inside, closed off to the public, studios and inner workings of the building. As I was unchapperoned, in the beginning, it took all I had not to run into the HBO studio and pretend I was an extra. Anyway, I made it to the interview, and my interviewer was a Marymount graduate, and she said she was impressed with my resume and explained the job and what I would be doing. Now I’m fairly certain I have the position, as she made references that the job was mine, but I have to wait for official paperwork to come in. Now those who know me know I have no style… I just don’t. So maybe I’ll get some working for Life&Style TV as a production assistant!
After the interview, I took the bus up from 50th Street (Rockefeller Center area) to school (71st Street) and spent 2 and a half hours changing my major from English to Communication Arts, and rearranging my classes so I could take Communications classes and get some transfer credits for California schools. All my classes are now either before noon or after 5pm, leaving Monday through Thursday open for my internship, weekends are for work at the Humane Society of New York (whenever they decide to call me back) and Fridays, or rather Friday nights, are for playing volleyball! Oh yeah, I’m playing sports again for the first time in like 10 years… wow… literally 10 years…
So that’s the plan. I’ll keep you posted. In the mean time, be sure you also read my mom’s blog about our family’s adventures in south Florida. Here’s the link: http://conniessimplesolutions.com/ Anyways, pictures, stories, complaints and more will be posted as my New York adventure continues.
One more week and I leave New York for 3 months. People always ask me what it’s like living in NYC, well it’s city living. Being in the hub of America doesnt change that. It’s expensive, you walk everywhere, the trains are late, when it rains your umbrella breaks, and there’s a Starbucks on every block. It’s nothing extremely awesome, yeah it’s cool seen g celebs and getting to do a real news worthy event every now and then. You go grocery shopping, bu you have ti carry everything back to your apartment. A runs to Trader Joes takes about an hour. Laundy costs $5 a load. Realistically, as a full time student and NYC resident, you stay pretty much in your own neighborhood. I stay mainly in Midtown East and Upper East Side. You walk with a atitiude, you know where you’re going, Contort your body to get through the crowds, jay walk through moving traffic, And never-ever going to Times Square… Ever.
Today is my twentieth birthday. I’m lying in bed at precisely 12:02am reflecting on the past ten years. I have battled with attention deficit hyperactive disorder, and censory integration dysfunction. I have been a victim of bullying and battled with depression and countless other battles with myself and with people. I have moved twice. Once at thirteen into Florida, the other at nineteen into New York City. I spent my teen years in South Florida where I dealt with the horrid public school system. Transferred into the most amazing middle school where I met my dearest and closest three best friends and made incredible memories. Those friends surprised me with a sweet sixteen and a trip to Disney World upon my eighteenth birthday. I have made an incredible journey in ten years and a metamorphosis occurred. I am no longer a victim of my previous circumstances. I’m growing into a career and a young adult. I’ll admit I’m forever cursed to have a child-like sense of wonder and amusement, for I had no childhood. However, this only makes me see the world in a positive light where even my most small dream becomes reality. So 20 years ago, people were just getting a household email, Cell phones where the size of bricks, dubstep didn’t exist, and smoking was concidered cool. A lot has changed, and a lot will change. But my reflection on how fast the world will change and how fast time flies by only makes me work harder to be a better me.
for class, entitled “Freedom”
I know, at once, what I would like to do if given the chance.
I’d run away and travel and be everything against
what my father expected me to be, in business.
Screw the office and taxes and bosses and the pessimist
views on life. I want to see Africa.
Show me lions, not capita,
and adventure where the days don’t end
and I may spread my arms in the wind
of the seas and feel not a care in the world.
Send me to Paris like Hemmingway and Fitzgerald
so I my write about these adventures I will live
and experience what it means to love life.
I will break away from the chains of economy
and I will free the race of Deuteronomy,
for my children will know of freedom.
We will not live life in a mausoleum.
For class we have to write a 10 line poem using nothing but lines from media works. See if you can guess where these lines are from?
Life’s not fair is it?
Well frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.
Things are rough all over.
You gotta put your past behind ya.
You can’t change the past
You can either run from it, or learn from it.
These wounds, they do not heal.
But no one told you life was gonna be this way.
It’s not your fault,
This is how a heart breaks.
Sanari landed with grace and poise after his massive leap across a crevasse in the side of Blueridge Mountain. He stood up solidly and looked back at the gap as he adjusted his quiver around his chest. It was nearly, but less than ten feet across, and the hole dropped roughly twenty feet into the heart of the stone structure. It was nearly impossible without a running start but he managed to defeat it with little issue.
I suppose those hours strength training have finally paid off. He thought smugly and continued forward. A memory slipped through his consciousness. It was raining heavily on a gray day in the Outlands, the trickling brook morphed into a raging river, its banks lined with large stones that a young Sanari stood angrily on side. He stood at a smaller section of the river, but the rapids still churned white foam in spite of the heavy rainfall. Vasher stood, drenched, with his arms folded across his chest on the opposite side of the bank. His sopping hair, only a channel for streams of water to run down his face, into his goatee and off his face like a waterfall. Both Sanari and Vasher’s tunics was pressed onto their bodies, the extra weight inhibiting Sanari’s efforts to leap across the river and onto the other bank. Each time he fell, he clawed his way out of the stream and tried again, growing weaker and weaker. Vasher stood like a pillar of stone as he watched and never moved from that spot. I remember why we did that. He thought, then returned his tone of arrogance, I suppose I should thank him.
Sanari continued on, each step cloaked in stealth as he stuck behind boulders and bushes. He advanced further towards the top of the mountain, where the shrubbery grew thin and bits of the mountain began to plateau out. The kingdom of Blueridge was further up; the mountain had no peak, but rather steppes and plateaus that channeled their way to the very top of the structure, where Daama and her clan ruled. I suppose this is as far as- His thought was interrupted by a noise. A shuffle of brush nearby. Sanari’s eyes flashed in the direction of the noise, keeping calm and controlling his breathing he dared not move. He sat in silence for a moment and he felt his heart beat thumping in his chest as he slowly drew and arrow and placed it in position in his bow.
In the location of the rustle, Sanari heard a shift in weight, bones cracking in the joints, and a loud exhale of air escape from the lips. It was human. Sanari smirked, target locked. In one quick movement Sanari drew his bow and shouted at the noise, “Get up!” He ordered forcefully.
Out stepped a man, thin, tattered tunic and ripped cloth shoes, his hands grasped a sheathed sword that he dropped on the ground upon revealing himself. Sanari stood up immediately after the man dropped the weapon, he aimed his bow at the man’s chest and stepped forward into the open area where the man stood a few feet from him.
“Kick your blade over to me.” Ordered Sanari.
The stranger did as asked, his expression of annoyance prevalent on his aged face. “Dammit,” he said aloud his deep voice, “If I didn’t have to move and if I wasn’t so damn creaky you’d a never found me.”
Sanari watched him for a second, not changing his expression, eyes still blazing and mouth still thin. He was an older man, his ashy colored hair was thinning and unruly, he had darkly tanned, pasty skin that covered narrow black eyes. He was thin, haggard almost, and he hunched over like a lanky adolescent while still holding his hands above his head.
“Name yourself.” Sanari ordered as he paced one foot over the sword kicked to him.
“Who do you think you are, kid?” The man smirked, revealing ugly brown teeth.
“Perhaps you don’t know to whom you speak.” Sanari retorted arrogantly, “However, it doesn’t matter because you are in no position to mouth me.”
“So then kill me.” the man laughed, “I’m old, I’m sick, can’t ya see that much?”
“I am tempted.” Sanari remarked. “Anyone who dares try to stalk me and make me prey I should very well take their life.”
“What makes you so cocky, kid? How old are you anyway?”
Sanari’s lip curled into a sneer, calm yourself, he told himself. “Give me your name, old man, or I’ll kill you here and now.” He gripped the bow tighter, then paused, he smiled and relaxed the arrow from the bow and picked up the sword from the ground and pulled it from its sheath. Returning the arrow to its quiver, Sanari smiled, “Your body isn’t even fit to be punctured by my arrows. Your own blade should very well kill you.” Sanari stepped forward and pressed the tip into the man’s pectoral. “I want your name.”
The man began to chuckle for a moment before Sanari began to push the tip into the man’s skin. His facial expression changed, “wait!” He begged, he paused and looked down for a moment before speaking, “I am called Seta.”
Sanari’s eyes lit up and a smile crept across his face. An idea glimmered from behind his emerald eyes. He withdrew the blade from Seta’s chest and held it in how own hands. “Are you the Seta of Darkfield?” He inquired.
“I am.” he responded placing his palm over his punctured chest.
“I am Sanari, son of Vasher of Darkfield.”
Seta’s eyes widened, “He is alive?”
“Indeed…” Sanari’s voice trailed off as he scanned over Seta’s face and grinned. “I can kill you.” He paused, “But I have a much better idea. You will go, and find my sister, the daughter of Vasher. She has amber eyes and black hair. She has a visible scar over her right eye. She has my father’s facial structure as well. I want you to find her. Once I have her, I will reward you with something; land is also a nice bargain. I can give you land.”
“What makes you think I want to go out and kidnap a little girl for you?” Seta looked disgusted.
“I can give you Vasher.” Sanari stated seriously.
A chuckle came from Seta’s mouth that emerged into a boisterous laugh, “You bastard son! You’d sign your own father’s death warrant over to me?”
“Will you do it or not…?” he replied.
Seta looked at Sanari humorously then extended his hand. “You have a deal.”
A few days has passed slowly by and Ranjen was beginning to go stir crazy from her lack of mobility. The sun peaked over the horizon and reflected its dawn rays into the morning dew of the lush grasses surrounding the cave. Ranjen slipped out into the crisp and damp morning air and felt the familiar shudder of the seasonal changes creep over her. She limped into the waist high grass and looked out into the south, where the Outlands were. The distant horizon showed the fading of green into dust, the desert, which would eventually lead to the resistance camp. She was several days journey away from the encampment, perfectly safe from Vasher, Sanari and anyone from her old home to find her.
Ranjen breathed in the safety and serenity and exhaled the thick, damp cavern air she had in her lungs the past few days. Suddenly, Ranjen felt as though she was being watched, no, stalked. She turned her head in the direction of the burning she felt from the eyes of her stalker. As she did so, a haggard and dirty man appeared from the grass standing several feet from her. His eyes burned evilly and murderously into hers.
Ranjen felt fear creep through her as she turned to face him, he must have crawled here for me not to see him so close to me. She breathed through her mouth slowly to hold back a scream of panic.
“He was right about that nasty scar, lady.” He said gruffly, “He said you looked like him but he didn’t mention how pretty you were.” The man pulled out his sword from his belt.
“Who are you!” She demanded while trying to conceal her fear
“I almost killed your Daddy.” Seta smiled evilly.
Seta! Breath escaped her as she fell back but her wounded leg cramped and resulted in her stumbling for balance. “He sent you..?”
“Your brother did, Sanabi or something like that, Sanari, that was it.”
“Damn him!” She cried, praying for a miracle that soon Rathera or Ryokai or Enari would find her missing and leave the cave.
Seta began moving in on her, sauntering in humor at his moment of pride. As he closed in on her, Ranjen felt cornered, an injured leg wasn’t going to help win her a fight. Suddenly, a rushing in the grass behind her caught Seta’s eye and she stood up to gain the upper hand in a futile effort. An old man came charging over to them, Seta glared at Ranjen before skulking back into the deep grass in retreat.
The man who came charged turned out to be an old woman with short white hair. She had a slightly wrinkled face, aging, but still powerful. Her voice was an aging alto, “Quickly, get inside somewhere, the Bansani are coming!”
Ranjen, still in shock from her brush with her assassin, limped off into the cave without asking who or was a Bansani was, or even saying a goodbye to the old woman.