Penny Hero (dot) Net

I wish I were a mathematician… or disciplined enough to spend all my life thinking about numbers. Concepts like the “golden ratio” and pi and the tetrahedral within a sphere touching the surface at 19.3 degrees (was that right?)… all these little glimpses of intellectual inspiration… they give me the same butterfly feeling that others might experience at Christmas. No, that’s a stupid analogy. But I get this butterfly feeling. This introverted and silent excitement… anticipation of some kind of new thing I’ll remember and be able to tie all these things together with. I know approximately nothing about these subjects and yet I get this echoing feeling of obsession when I am exposed to them. Something in number theory calls me. And it always has. No one could ever explain to me satisfactorily what pi really was when I’d ask my teachers in … whatever grade that was. 3rd, 5th… I can’t remember. I predicted/had theories about black holes when I was 7 and 8 and I’d tell them to my dad. I visualized a fourth physical dimension when I was 12. It’s like this childhood passion… to try to embrace the inconceivable. Do something or understand something that no one else could. Not for fame or glory… but just to understand.

That is the idea behind all pure science isn’t it? The pursuit of pure knowledge. So what does this calling say about where I should go? I have passions for creation, for analysis, for language… but I’ve also passion for numbers, for theory, for higher mathematics… A passion, but not necessarily a talent for…

Maybe I should team up with a genius… make up for what he/she lacks… and gain what I’ve been looking for. Heh. there’s the whole mirror/soul mate theory again. Matter and antimatter. When combined they annihilate each other.

Thoughts.

3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751058209749445923078
164062862089986280348253421170679821480865132823066470938446095505822
317253594081284811174502841027019385211055596446229489549303819644288
109756659334461284756482337867831652712019091456485669234603486104543
266482133936072602491412737245870066063155881748815209209628292540917
153643678925903600113305305488204665213841469519415116094330572703657
595919530921861173819326117931051185480744623799627495673518857527

Numbers.

I had this dream last night… a really sweet dream. But I only remembered it this afternoon.

I don’t remember the details, but I remember the feelings it gave me. I was spending time with this person with whom I’m currently on very poor terms with. We were just hanging out, like friends do… going to parks, watching the ocean, talking a lot. The dream was more like a jumbled sequence of memories… all the good memories, and none of the uncomfortable moments. It was really sweet. The dream felt like a gift from somewhere. Like a someone was trying to convince me “See? Remember? Wasn’t that nice? Don’t you miss that?” The dream felt so nice…. Like a warm and cozy hug… being cocooned in something soft and warm.

Sladkiy son o kislom kivi

I felt nostalgic and sad when I remembered the dream. But not in the least guilty for not feeling this way before. Dreams are just dreams… especially dreams like that. I am not denying the fact that I do miss the good things about that relationship. But despite the nostalgia, that relationship is over.

Fukai kiui o yumemitta… demo kono yume wa kokochiyoi da. Odorokubeki…!

Who’d have thought that Borders would carry one of the Smashing Pumpkins tribute albums? I got really dizzy when I saw it in the pumpkins section. :) In case any pumpkins fans see this, the album kicks ass! It has such a range of styles… techno interpretation of Bullet with Butterfly Wings, a strings instrumental version of Disarm and Tonight Tonight… Lots of awesome stuff. :) All made by fans for fans and for our pumpkins… *sigh* I remember emailing the guy when it was first announced that some tribute albums were going to be produced. I wish I had tried to contribute. Oh well. :) I don’t even own a guitar anymore…

After weeks and weeks of searching, I finally found a decent source for Chara lyrics in romaji. And I am becoming an even bigger fan… Her style is so unique, and now I’ve discovered that her songs’ content is equally awesome… “Duka” Always perplexed me… she sings “papa mama ice cream ice cream Duka Duka” over and over… and a few lines said “atarashi mama” and I could not understand what the song could be about. (atarashi mama would mean “new mother”)… But then I found the romaji and a rough translation… The song is about impressions of childhood… of going to the park with her father and her step mom (new mother) and of her dog “Duke”. She talks about her dog running, balloons, ice cream and then questions “will I be lonely when I grow up also?” The song is beautiful and nostalgic… It sounds happy and cheerful, but it is actually a very sad song. All this time I’ve been listening to it thinking it must be a song about an amusement park or something… when really it is about her parent’s divorce, and her dog, and her lost childhood memories…

Maybe this song is based on a fictitious life, but it still represents how similar we all are… I identified with this song, even though it was written in another language, by someone who was raised in another culture and I found this giggly bubbly sparkly feeling inside me because of this identification. A small epiphany… I’ve found another musical artist which makes me feel a little like how the pumpkins make me feel. Not in the same way… So far Chara hasn’t created her own animated series… nor has she played the martyr for the rock music industry… no drama. She’s normal. She’s real. The pumpkins represent that side of me which dreams… which believes and the side of me which would die for a cause… or would prefer to live forever. Chara has come to represent the other side… the side that just wants to live a normal life. To be a mortal girl… and let the world spin on however way it wishes… And to just let go.

I am two people living in this skin. One of us will disappear with this body. The other will live on. One life is short. And I want to embrace that life… like I never have before.

“yea go for it…

you only live once… or some thing like that so you might as well add kool aid powder to what ever you can”

My Chemistry teacher at Waiakea used to occasionally lecture about life and society. I think it was in order to instill a certain amount of pride in our existence… an odd practice for a chemistry teacher I know… but in my opinion he was very good at it. Good at what he did. Good at speaking. Good at teaching. And he absolutely loved his job. He made things interesting. His sense of humor was intelligent and witty. Occasionally he’d crack jokes about his own life, and tease “be my student aide next year so I can spend more time with my son.” When I became his student aide my senior year I soon discovered that he had the habit of re-using his jokes and his lectures… but only to perfect their timing, and maximize the effect they would have on us, his students. Each new class heard similar lectures, similar jokes, and I found myself very glad to know that we weren’t the only ones to hear them…

One lecture sticks out in my mind very much right now. Towards the end of the year, after all academic things were almost finished. Mr. Kloetzel spent part of the period talking about life… giving us his own versions of “words of wisdom”… one thing he said really struck home with me then… and has really stayed with me.

“We have absolutely without a doubt won the lottery by being born in this country.”

I really respected those words when he said them… maybe because I had come to trust and respect him as a role-model and a teacher. I don’t know what he represented to me in my psychology… but I will never forget those words, and how much I believed in them.

We in America are born Free. So free that we don’t even know that we are free. We often take it for granted. Some of us are not able to comprehend alternative concepts… such as communism, or religious beliefs which restrict life as we would prefer to live it. After these last few days… I’ve heard Mr. K’s words ring in my head over and over again… and I can’t help but feel anger and pain because I now know that the very ideas that Mr. K has been teaching us between chemistry lessons have been threatened… and possibly wounded.

Mr. Kloetzel was part of the Air National Guard I believe… He’d leave class about twice a month or so for active duty or other assignments… I can’t help but wonder how this has affected him. Is he able to remain in the classroom? I can’t think of a more comforting place to be in a time like this than listening to him speak… His students are very lucky… and they probably won’t even know it until they all graduate.

it is dangerous to attempt to compose something coherent and legible in this state of shock… I can’t help but think of… the lives… and the losses… and can barely keep from crying. The only thing really keeping from crying is the fact that Val is sitting behind me and I would rather not cry in front of anyone. Just keep busy. keep thinking. Big brother Richard was online… which was nice… the next best thing to speaking to my own brother… who graduates from boot camp tommorrow. I want to talk to my dad… but… not all that possible right now. He’s probably at work.

Coherence. Substance. My brain is mush. Mr. K is part of the Air National Guard… as are some of my friends. Alicia Remfert… my childhood best friend… She is part of the Navy forces I believe… and her brother. She followed her brother’s footsteps… a year behind. Jenn’s brother… Keone’s brother… Shit, even Kerstan’s brother… And hundreds of random people I’ve simply read about in livejournal… everyone is personally affected… there is no way… to withdraw from this. It is more than a national tragedy… it is a very personal tragedy.

Fear.

Shock.

With recovery comes what? Retaliation? Whwere will this go?

*numb*

I left my house yesterday at 6:00 am and headed up 99w toward I-5… I had about 6 hours of freeway ahead of me. It was so wierd… I’d never driven out of Newberg at that hour and so never saw the land as it was just waking up. There are some hay fields that the road goes past on its way toward Beaverton. There was this very thick mist rising off the fields as the sun rose and presumably warmed the dew and began to slowly evaporate it. The mist was rising like ghosts off the stubbly cut hay and it billowed up into the sky in places. There was one place where the wind from passing cars or the subtle morning southbound breeze caused the mist to billow up and over the top of the road… and it formed a translucent bridge across the highway and then connected with the mists in the field on the other side… It was beautiful… It seemed to be a doorway… a gateway through which I passed at the beginning of the first road trip I have ever taken alone. Passing under the mists represented passing through and beyond a time of childhood and fear of the unknown. The mists parted before me and allowed me to enter this world of adult confidence. I was almost brought to tears at this welcoming/farewell display.

I saw the mists again as I crossed the bridge of over the columbia river… just on the other side… They seemed to serve as a reminder that this was a rite of passage… an act of maturation. I was away from my parents and away from my secure and safe child-like existence and I was truly alone out there. If something were to go wrong, I’d have to solve the problem myself and decide for myself to keep going or turn back. After I left Vancouver area, I passed through some more early morning fog which obscured the road ahead of me completely momentarily… It was like another door way… only this one I had to open and pass through due to my own will and drive. Once past it, I began to see the road in a different way for some reason… The curves of the land reminded me of a woman, and the road pressed itself against her like lingerie. And we, the cars passed over her like the fingers of her lover… I had such strange and distinct impressions from the land around me as I passed through it on my way to Bellingham…

And now I’m here. And I’m very glad to be here.

It is so different here. :) so amazing. I love Val’s mom. She’s such a character. I feel like I’m being spoiled rotten here… I mean, home-made yogurt parfait for breakfast? Expensive gold edged china? Several course meals for dinner…? I’m not a materialistic person, and I’m not usually impressed by things like this… but I’ve only experienced meals or life styles like this when staying at a nice hotel, or eating at a nice restaurant. The idea of actually living in this kind of life style all the time is a sort of awe-inspiring concept… I don’t envy val much, because he fits here. His mildly aristocratic aura belongs in a life like this. (even though he says his mom never breaks out the good china like this. heh heh. I feel even more special.) And I on the other hand, am much more comfortable in a simpler atmosphere. This is an experience I’ll treasure forever though… It is so warm and bright in this house. Cozy and sparkling at the same time. Anna Foster has made this manufactured house into a Russian feeling home. *grin* It is like getting a glimpse of some beautiful foreign country. better than any photo.

I know that when I return home, I won’t be some kind of drastically changed person or anything. But I’ll come home with undeniable proof of my age. This experience of travel for the first time will be a souvenir of maturation… And I’m so happy to be at this point in my life.

I’ve learned so much in this life… but what if in the grand scheme of things, I really know nothing? I suppose this is to be expected of someone like me… someone like this. Someone human. We miss so many things, we are distracted so easily. Our attention span is so short… we are fickle and shallow as a race at times and we misinterpret the world so often.

What if I’ve made a mistake this time? My past should forever remain in my past… But this present… it isn’t past yet. It isn’t too late. There is a little voice in me pleading “Don’t let this one go!” What is it that I’m looking for that I’m not finding here? Am I just afraid because of how young I am? I may never find another like this one. And here I am letting it get on a plane and flying home… and not following after it.

With all my experience at goodbyes and hellos, I should be adept at recognizing the ones worth keeping and the ones which should be forgotten. Val is one I held onto and as a result nurtured a very deep friendship. Alastair was one I let go of and as a result began to heal from the injuries I acquired both during and prior to him. To hold on or let go… Where am I supposed to go this time?

What am I looking for that isn’t already here? Shallow things. Experiences. “The world”. I’m just going to die in the end anyway… and all the mortal things I’ve collected in this life will fade away. What are the tangible permanent things in this place? Which of these gifts will we be allowed to keep in the next world? Am I going about this life all wrong?

I am so young. I can’t be expected to know all the answers at age 19. But I feel that if I could just discover the answer to this question, I’d be so much farther ahead… ahead in this race… and perhaps I would have the ability to live my life in a much fuller and deeper manner than anyone running beside me. And I’d be less exhausted when this is all finished. Less old

This time the clock’s hands are fighting. I feel like this event had been ripped from my future and thrust upon me in my present… for what reason, I have no idea. I just feel like I could have designed the chronological structure of my life so much better… Put this love, this event a few more years down the road… after he comes back from Japan, and after I’ve started college… In a time when our lives were more compatible.

I don’t know what to do. And if I do nothing, do I risk losing everything? Love is not like the lottery… where you can only win if you play. Here, you can lose by not playing. How do I know that this isn’t the jackpot? And what if when I’m finally ready to hold it, the wheel has moved on and passed me by?