The first conference presentation I gave was in a small room, filled with about seventy people, at my university. I was a sophomore working on undergraduate research and it felt fantastic to be their with my mentor, my friends, and a room full of people whose work had zero overlap with my own. Public speaking was not my strong suit — it still isn't. Somewhere between excited and terrified I was breathless. The microphone didn't hide that. Nor was there a podium. Everyone could tell I was nerve-wracked and, a little embarrassed that the people I worked with saw it, I was grateful that a few professors threw me some softball questions I felt comfortable answering. At the banquet later that night, I couldn't help but draw in to myself: quiet and unassuming, just listening to the keynote. Afterwards, I was delighted that there was so much leftover food. I had once asked what happened to all of it; packaged food could be donated, but everything else was thrown out. So, I had no reservations about stealing away to the back of the room and loading up a few plates for the week.
He saw, and he smiled. He came up to me and I grew quite nervous — it's not a dignified or professional look to be seeking out the scraps. He told me that I was intelligent and passionate, if a bit new to it all, and that he could see me becoming a great professor. Of course, I didn't know how to respond, but suddenly it was a good day. Dr. Bala, you will be missed.
I like to think that I'm getting better at handling a long distance relationship. For instance, I'm no longer uncertain if things will work out because of the distance. Recently, my boyfriend left for the start of another semester after an extended visit and — get this — I haven't even cried since he left. I thought I was doing so well. Looking back, though, this week has been predominantly laying in bed, eating obscene amounts of chocolate, and going back to bed. It'll get better.
It's moving day. First, my boss scheduled a meeting at 11 A.M. Then my landlord called to say I can't pick up my keys until noon and move things into the bedroom until after 3 P.M. because they've decided to put new carpet in. The apartment across the hall from me is getting an ozone treatment and absolutely everything smells. I might be in for a long day...
One week until my move! Lots of time has been wasted meandering through my 700 square feet, eyes searching for knick-knacks to pack a little tighter. Perhaps the weather will be a little more pleasant by then — yesterday we received seven inches of snow, topped with ice, and the roads are still awful. I've been also been letting the time drip past by playing lots of chess. It's a new game for me and so far my elo ranking is ~760, which is pretty bad. As it turns out, most of chess ability can be simplified into 1) memorizing opening maneuvers and 2) practicing lots of chess puzzles to learn the optimal response to many scenarios. Of course, computers will outmatch us at every turn. Meanwhile, I'm struggling to master the Catalan and the English openings. (P.S. My boyfriend and I have decided it is illegal to work on snow days during the holidays, so there's actually quite a bit of time for chess!)
This year's Yuletide has been a rather cold celebration. We've already has a few inches of snow and as I type this more is falling. On Monday, the Winter Solstice, I had a meeting with my advisor and a few others. My advisor ended with a “Merry Christmas!” It struck me as odd considering he is not Christian, the other professor is not Christian, and I am not Christian. Only one person on the call was Christian. Thus, I retorted with a “and a happy Solstice!”
That was more relevant. As it turns out, in Iran the Winter Solstice is called Yalda Night and it is widely celebrated to this day. Similar to other cultures, the celebration is in honor of the longest and darkest night of the year, when recognized, protects the layfolk from evils in the world. On this night, Iranian families gather to burn candles, eat fruits and nuts, read poetry aloud. Pomegranates and watermelon are favorites, or so I'm told. Cheers to that!
It turns out that after years of meal-prepping curry chicken and rice, it can actually start to taste better.
My boyfriend and I both have anxiety, but it manifests itself in completely different ways. My anxiety is a monster in the dark: it's all in my head, it's too overwhelming to tangibly describe, and I often hide away from it. This leads to procrastinating work or downright avoidance of the issue. My boyfriend's anxiety is more physical: sick to the stomach, grinding the work out, and sleepless nights. I wish we could trade places.
Eighteen days after all the classwork finished, grades have finally been posted. Of course, the site students use to access grades crashed this morning, right on time, causing some well-founded panic for supposed graduates. Well, they haven't caught on yet that I'm flying blind, so I haven't failed out yet. I guess this means that year one is done and there's only three more to go. The academic year hasn't been what I anticipated, and my anxiety is back full-force, but I'm happy to end with four conference papers and a general plan of what to do next. It could be worse.
These are my two favorite co-habitants! They keep me sane even when I look like a fool in front of my research cohort.
