The Rainbow Road Less Travelled By

[i am an oyster]

2008-12-03T19:12:00.010-05:00

i hide
safe within the watertight shelter that is my home
twin gray-green shells. rough outside:
satin-smooth and white only to me

my body:
squishy, slimy, soft, and ugly. is nothing. but,
a mass of organs necessary to survive;;
-it is my destiny to be harvested

my muscle
(my only) keeps them from prying me open
whether to eat me alive or steal my treasure i do not know
they hammer at my shell but it does not crAck

the pearl
lies within me, glimmering, white, and glassy
covering a single, painful speck of sand
(((heavier and rounder each passing day)))

each organ
has, in turn, forgotten what this shining sphere is hiding
but my non-existent soul can not and will not forget--
ever wishing that it would dissolve (my only)

i would
open my shells just to push out that speck of sand
but they would destroy me, the almighty humans
because i am just an oyster, and nothing more,,,,,

[stark]

2009-12-17T16:16:00.006-05:00

I'm always sort of confused when activist organizations have offices filled with cubicles and stark white walls. I'm never sure how you're supposed to be inspired to change the world in an environment like that. Maybe my thoughts are abnormally tied to my environment.

(Mmmmm the smell of freshly-ground coffee always makes me feel ready to tackle huge things, though. I'm at Red Emma's and the Mocha Java smells amazing.)

So I start an internship with Equality Maryland the second week of January. I'm not sure whether to start working on ideas until then or just let my brain simmer away for now. Hopefully working in an office (10-5) doesn't kill me, but at least it's only three days a week.

I feel sort of out of it today. I wish that would stop. Maybe I just need some caffeine. I've been partial to espresso rather than drip lately.

I feel sort of like I have too much to do and not enough time to do it all, and sort of like I have nothing at all to do with my time.

I feel sort of like I wish I had brought a book with me today, but sort of like I am in a bookstore and maybe I should just grab a book to read. I am sort of annoyed that I can't bring myself to write today but I also realize that I am writing right now.

Today people seem like sheets of shiny plastic folded to create complex surfaces. All I can see is their sharp crinkled exteriors, and its unnerving to think that maybe nothing lies beneath.

Yeah, a shot of espresso might not be a bad idea.

LATER EDIT:
Also, the director of Equality Maryland uses the word "queer" to describe LGBTQ youth. There is hope for the future yet. I'm not at the GLCCB anymore...

I am nervous about how to react to initiatives that are less progressive than my point of view. Definitely going to be employing some of the skills I developed in my time at SGA.

Now if only Equality MD's office looked more like the student org space...

[cs]

2009-02-12T14:23:00.009-05:00

i want to feel with more
than just my fingers
sliding over textured shell
changing patterns to reveal
new

saliva conjured to the surface
spread over rough lips by
dart of eager tongue
as words drift out, falling
over

silence fosters calculation
tightly knotted packaged words
exported as complex patterns
weaving a surface blue and green
beyond

a small dark place
where i cannot go

- Paula S. McCusker

[me

2009-12-16T05:00:00.001-05:00

two kittens of quite different colors
playing on the darkest rug
rolling biting clawing hissing,,,;

a new collar is a new scent
i will sniff it
although perhaps the color is not to my liking

gently lick
scratch marks i did not make
curiosity, beauty, and the disguise of the other

the secret man
peers in through tinted glass
as rough tongues collide (elastically, of course)

the photograph
did not appear to have such sharp edges
how loudly the dark man reveals himself

ow]

[dropout]

2009-12-14T21:50:00.004-05:00

So I woke up today a lot later than I intended to. I meant to head down to Red Emma's hours before my shift was supposed to start and work on writing physics solutions until it was time for me to hop behind the bar. I meant to get a lot of work done during my shift as well, so that I didn't have to stay up all night tonight getting solutions written for the Physics 121 students who are, no doubt, eagerly awaiting them. Instead, I overslept, dragged my feet making lunch, and ended up reorganizing my room for several hours, during which I lost track of time and ended up running late for my shift at Emma's. And now I'm gonna be up all night writing solutions, and I might not finish them by my deadline, noon tomorrow. C'est la vie.

I dropped out of school a few weeks ago. Or 'took some time off,' depending on your preference. People seem to be upset by the former and reassured by the latter. My scholarship is going to be deferred until Fall 2010, but the truth is, I don't plan on going back to school then. I'm not sure when or how I plan on going back, but I suppose that someday I will.

The too-smart rhetoric has dominated the last few years of my life. I am too smart to take time off. I am too smart to be an activist. I am too smart to figure out who I am. I am too smart to 'waste' my time reading novels and writing books no one will ever read. The feminist movement has sought to expand women's options to include the technical sciences, and in doing so has shut me into a box. I can do math, therefore I must. I am smart, therefore I must achieve their ends. I must become a statistic, yet another minute percentage of the engineering field that is female.

I am not apologetic for my decision to be something greater than a number.

The fear of dropping out (aka failure), has been instilled in most of us for much of our lives. It was generally not expected that I would go to college, so I always saw college as a way out, a fuck-you to the circumstances of my childhood that would have me accomplish nothing more than self-sustaining endeavors until it was time to reproduce. I knew that college would propel me forward into a new life that was truly my own. And in fact, it did just that. In many ways college has served its purpose. It has, as I suggested earlier, shown me exactly what higher education is not. College has not been, for me, a place to find myself. It has been a place to simmer and grow restless. It has been a place to develop and deepen the aspects of myself that I was already aware of. I am infinitely grateful for the staff and administrators at UMBC who mentored me, who pointed out the windows of college life and said, "look, there is a place you could be someday." There are things I have learned in my time at UMBC that are now an integral part of who I am, and I humbly thank all of those who have been patient enough to teach me.

But the end of this era is not a failure. On the contrary, it is perhaps one of my life's greatest victories thus far. Victory extracted from beneath the surface defeat strikes again, this time much brighter.

I am sure people feel disappointed about me dropping out. Certainly many a generation above me: staff, professors, parents, and others; but also my peers. But I am not disappointed, and others should not be disappointed on my behalf. What some might see as a failure to reach potential is really the realization of the role that I have to play in this world. What some might see as a stumbling block, I see as the gift of flight. I am unbounded. I am finally free. The journey has just begun.

People keep asking me what I am doing next, and the answer is a complex ball of energy whose direction is difficult to define. I am not sitting around twiddling my thumbs and watching TV while my former classmates accomplish credits and grade point averages. I am not wasting away, my potential as an individual dwindling before my eyes as I sink beneath the privilege level I once held.

Suddenly my life is full of endless possibilities. I have been intellectually restless for a long time, and for the first time in many years I am finally able to let myself learn, to let myself participate in age-old conversations in disciplines relevant to my interests. For the first time in my life I can feel the edges of what I want to do with my life in the dark mass of society that surrounds me. Now my life is going somewhere. Now I am on my way to being the person I have always wanted to be. Now I am set forward on my path towards changing the world.

It is difficult to describe the explosion of fervor that has consumed me over these last few weeks. It is impossible to share the excitement of what has been brewing deep inside me. I have truly felt this way few times before in my life, and it has always preceded a great era of growth. It is time for me to move forward with my life once more. It is time for me to stop being brilliant in a classroom and start enacting real change. It is time for me to stop preparing for my future and travel into it instead.

I didn't drop out of something. I leaped onto a moving train. I will miss what I left behind but I can't keep waiting around just because the townsfolk say that a faster train is coming later. If this one doesn't go as far as I want, there will be other trains. There will always be trains, but I've been craving the wind on my face, and stagnancy just doesn't do me well.

I am thrilled with my new-found ability to engage. I am bursting with ideas. And now that I have taken a few weeks to tie my shoes and flex my muscles, I am ready to run.

But for the first time in my life I will have something to look back on fondly. And that added thought is enough to leave me feeling better than I ever have.

[a safe place]

2009-11-17T21:10:00.006-05:00

"So how have you been feeling lately?" Shirley asked as she spun to face the rather unremarkable couch where I sat, my muscles tense and my heart beating exceptionally fast.

I met her bright smile with a scowl. "Fine." It wasn't a real response. "Just want to go home," I added darkly, setting my jaw and staring at nothing in particular on the plain office carpet beneath the plastic wheels of her chair.

The therapist nodded thoughtfully and glanced down at her paperwork. "I bet you do. How have you been getting along here? Have you made friends with any of the other kids your age?"

Smalltalk. This was stupid.

"Look. I don't need to talk to a therapist." Blunt.

Shirley shifted in her seat. "I know you don't need to. I'm just trying to check up on you, make sure you're doing okay." Fake smile. Lean forward. Facial expression shift to serious. "I know this must be really difficult for you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I hate this place. The rules are so stupid. I miss my dad. I want to go home." And I hate my mom, and I hate you for being a part of this, I wanted to add.

Shirley smiled sympathetically (FAKER!) and nodded, her fingers clutching the clipboard in front of her as if she could fix everything if only she squeezed hard enough. "It sounds like you're frustrated. But the rules are here to keep you safe, right? You're here so you can be safe."

"Safe from what?" I spat incredulously. But I knew what.

Concerned expression. "Your parents have some things that they need to work out. This is a safe place for you guys to be in the meantime."

Angry. So angry. Searing white. "I hate it here. I'm treated like a child every single day, I can't go anywhere or do anything, and I hate sharing a room with them. I don't understand why I can't just go home. This is so stupid. I'm not in any danger at home." The words spilled out furiously.

Shirley nodded (stop doing that). "Your mom is going through a very difficult time. She needs you to be here with her so that she can know that you're safe, even if you feel safe at home."

I wanted to scream. This woman didn't know anything about me or my life. This was my first time being forced to see her, but my mom had been seeing her every day. This woman had no idea what the truth was, only the lies that my mother had undoubtedly spewed during those sessions. I felt so angry and helpless. I couldn't even begin to make this woman understand.

"She is not going through a difficult time. She is lying. She kidnapped me and she is lying about my dad." Bold accusations through gritted teeth.

A frown from Shirley. "What do you think she is lying about?"

"My dad doesn't HIT her." I seethed sharply. Even as a child, the intensity of my anger must have been intimidating. Shirley shifted in her seat again and tilted her head slightly, her eyes softening as if she had recognized something familiar. UGGGGGGH STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE YOU KNOW BETTER THAN ME! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!

"Paula, you don't know that. You're not always there..." Shirley said softly, carefully, her sad eyes filled with a pity than only enraged me further.

"Yes, I am! I know everything that goes on in that house! I know him! I would know if he ever hit her!" I was well aware that I must have sounded deranged and naive but also knew that there was nothing I could do about it.

But it was true. I had known for a long time that my parents didn't get along, and it was less painful to know why than to wonder. I sat quietly in the hallway and listened to their fights. I learned that listening through the ventilation system was clearer than listening through the floor, and I heard every word of every fight even when they sent me to my room and fought downstairs. I learned how to pick up the phone and listen in on conversations so that no one else could hear me. I looked through paperwork in both of my parents' desks after they went to sleep. I listened to voice messages on the answering machine and marked them new again when I was done. I was awake when each of them went to sleep, which was always at different times, but sometimes after the door would close for the night I would lurk outside, my face near the crack between the door and the floor, watching and listening to see if anything ever happened. I looked through all the files on my dad's computer. I went through my mom's purse. I went through my dad's briefcase. I went through their closet when neither of them were around and looked through the pockets of their clothing. I opened suitcases and drawers, probed through bookshelves, and watched them from another room whenever I had the chance.

I have no idea what I thought I was looking for. But I had no doubt that nothing that happened in that house escaped me. Instead of interacting with my parents I spied on them. Instead of asking questions I observed the answers. I knew they weren't having sex, even though I wasn't quite sure what that was. I knew they slept as far away from each other in the bed as possible, facing opposite walls. I knew they thought that I had ADHD and had secretly asked all my teachers to fill out evaluation paperwork without telling me. I knew that my mom had stolen some of the valuable jewelry my family had given me on my first trip to India, but had lied and told me I lost it. I knew that there was porn on my dad's computer, but I sort of wondered if he even knew that it was there since he had inherited the computer from work and didn't really understand how it worked very well. I knew that my mom had a secret stash of money hidden in their bedroom... and it was a LOT of money. I knew how much my dad made in a year from looking through his paperwork, even though he refused to tell me. The list went on and on. But most of my knowledge was uninteresting or irrelevant. If something as serious as physical abuse were happening, I would know. I knew them better than they knew themselves, I felt. Listening to two people who knew each other intimately fight for several years was extremely revealing.

But that was not normal, and I knew it. I knew that there was no way to make this therapist understand that I was not a normal eleven-year-old, and that I knew things about my parents that they didn't even know about each other. I knew that I couldn't convince her that my mom was lying about the physical abuse to get back at my dad for not giving her what she wanted. I knew what my mom wanted- an easy way out of this marriage- and I didn't want her to have it. But there was no way to say that. Shirley looked at me as though I were a wounded puppy gnawing on my tail and crying by the side of the road.

I don't remember clearly how the rest of the session went, but I do remember that it didn't last much longer. I didn't try to argue with her about it any further, and I'm sure she dismissed my assertion that I would surely know if my father was abusive. I felt crushed by statistics. I had been overlooked by second-wave feminism, and there were at least seven years until I would even understand what that was.

I was eleven, and the world did not care what I had to say. The shelter's rules (for children under 12, which I would turn only two months later) mandated that I stay with my mother at all times while in the shelter for abused women and children, so I spent the entire duration of my time there tethered to my abuser while she spewed lies about the only parent I felt safe around. No one bothered to follow up with me on my therapy session. No one bothered to ask why I was so certain that my mother was lying or so eager to return to my dad.

I lived in a shelter for abused women and children for weeks and no one bothered to ask me if anyone had ever hit me, only if my DAD had ever hit me. I felt very much as though I had been kidnapped, and I was terrified. My entire life had been thrown upside-down, and suddenly my abuser was the victim and I an insolent child. The world was an injustice, and my voice disregarded. I tried to email and call my dad to beg for help, but I was kept under sharp watch.

The shelter was my prison, and sexist assumptions kept me gagged. My mother would continue to abuse me for almost two years after we left the shelter.

Eventually, we left the shelter and returned home. My mom sold the food stamps we had gotten to a friend. My dad went on trial and was declared innocent. The world swirled manically in a blur of confusing events, until suddenly, we were pretending that everything was normal again. No one ever asked me for details about what had happened, and I didn't talk to anyone about my time there. I had kept a journal while in the shelter, but unfortunately, that journal is long gone.

I was buoyant. I put the events of that summer behind me once things started to feel normal again. I forced myself to forget a lot of the details. But two things from my experience at the abused women's shelter I will never forget. One is the feeling of sheer terror and helplessness that came from being quite literally imprisoned behind locked doors and security guards. The complete helplessness I felt during the therapy session was nothing compared to how I felt when curfew hit each night and the doors to the shelter locked shut from the inside. And that was nothing still compared to being twenty feet away from my mother outdoors but knowing that if I just started running the security guard would catch up to me in a matter of seconds and force me back inside.

The other thing that I will never forget is a story for another day.

[three minutes]

2009-11-09T05:38:00.003-05:00

the past is a place
not far away
my fingers in yours
and the root of the cause still undiscovered
your lips
a foreign place
my eyes close tightly
as i whisper, gently, the reasons i'm not
"no one can tell me not to find it..."
a line erased
is it truly black?
the fire is so much hotter than you know
rewind
rewind
a girl stands alone on a bridge
with memory railings
and her feet feel like null space
but her eyes follow the smile beneath icy water
too late to swim
too early to fly

[catalyst]

2009-10-06T14:14:00.007-04:00

"Did I do that?"

It's a question I've asked myself so often recently. Did my words spark this debate? Were my actions a defining factor? Was the outcome different because I exist?

It's an important question for me. My ability to claim victories is often my only vindication from the social marginalization that I experience as a consequence of my actions. But my desire to denounce negative outcomes leads me to question the cause-and-effect model.

Maybe I didn't break it.
Maybe it was already cracked.
Maybe I didn't create something beautiful.
Maybe I just pulled the curtains off a masterpiece we all thought we weren't supposed to touch.

One of the most difficult stances that I have ever taken has recently taken legitimate roots in policy discussion. The actions I took regarding this issue resulted in criticism from my peers and caused a few of my family members to stop speaking to me, but I believed in what I was doing. But now that white-collar conversations are taking place, everyone seems to want me to keep my name out of it. I am daring but I am not legitimate. I can take the heat, but not the credit. An issue that I was passionate enough to risk everything for will go down in records as having been effectively addressed by people other than me. It stings in a way that others warned me about but I never fully understood. But I can't change the system externally if the system is unwilling to engage with me. So was it worth it? Did my actions make a difference? Would the framework or context for what's happening now still exist had my actions not been taken?

I don't know, and I guess I never will. I'd like to believe that my actions held a defining role in how things played out, because maybe that will make the marginalization, both from my family and my peers, feel worth it. Maybe it will be the difference between feeling critical and feeling used.

There are so many great movements that I have been a part of at UMBC that I can proudly point to and say, "I did that- I was a part of that. I spoke up and that happened as a result!" But the real world is complex, and nothing is as simple as cause-and-effect. Maybe my questions led to a change in policy interpretation, but maybe the policy writers left that clever loophole on purpose, and sooner or later someone would have challenged it. I can claim my actions, but I can't claim the results.

This is both discouraging and comforting. If the policy whose interpretation changed because of a challenge I made to it is revised and tightened, resulting in less rights for students, is that my fault for having challenged it?

No. I can no more feel guilty for things that have been destroyed than I can claim as my victory those which have been created. I am but one player in a game that transcends neat categories and strategy guides. To simplify a system so that blame can be neatly placed is to mock those who participate in it.

I have been called a catalyst by others. And at first glace, maybe I am. A catalyst does not participate in a chemical reaction. A catalyst is not consumed by it. A catalyst can participate in multiple reactions at once. A catalyst slows or speeds a reaction by changing the activation energy of a complex. It allows reactions to happen that would otherwise be impossible, energy-wise, but its atoms do not actually end up in the product, at least not mathematically. At least not to anyone who doesn't understand the mechanisms behind the reaction. To the casual observer, a catalyst exists peacefully while a chemical reaction swarms around it. It appears to do nothing, but the truth is, it is doing everything. But the end result seems to indicate that the catalyst is untouched. So maybe that's me.

Sometimes I feel like I break everything I touch. Sometimes I feel like I touch everything within arm's reach. Sometimes I feel like my ability to touch the things that other people can't even see is my greatest strength.

But I am not a catalyst. These reactions consume me. Activism is not chemistry, unfortunately for me.

I don't know what I am. But I am alive. And I am going to keep on trying to figure it out.

[be inspired by your own story]

2009-09-09T22:08:00.009-04:00

Watch your thoughts, for they become your words.
Watch your words, for they become your actions.
Watch your actions, for they become your habits.
Watch your habits, for they become your character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.
[Freeman Hrabowski]

The first time Freeman Hrabowski took notice of me, I was an 18-year-old college freshman with short-cropped, spiky hair, a determination to be heard, and a fire in my voice. As I spoke out against the injustices I saw in a pending university decision to a crowd of my peers, professors, and university administration, I could see his eyes soften with the impact of each verbal plea.

A lot of people spoke out that day against the decision for UMBC to become a Reserve Officer Training Corps host site, for a variety of reasons, ranging from bold statements like "the military's purpose is death" to timid, respectful questions about how UMBC could justify inviting in a program that violated our own non-discrimination policy. I will never forget watching one UMBC staff member who I knew was not usually inclined to speak out step in front of the microphone and raise his objections to allowing LGBT people to be be discriminated against on the UMBC campus. I will never forget the tortured look in the eyes of one ROTC cadet who undoubtedly had a story to tell, but could not, for the very reason that many of us did not want ROTC here. I admire so many of the people who spoke that day for their courage. I don't think I have ever felt such deep solidarity with my community. I didn't feel like a hero that day; I felt like part of a powerful movement.

But somehow I stood out that day. What I had to say grabbed the attention of many, and hundreds of opportunities arose for me from those town hall meetings. They acted as my springboard into activism, because for the first time, I realized the power I held if only I chose to unleash it.

I could change things for people if I spoke.

Freeman Hrabowski found me after the town hall meeting to shake my hand. He complimented my courage and persuasion, and expressed an interest in working with Freedom Alliance and I to address some of the challenges LGBT students face at UMBC. It was an exciting moment for us.

Most of my interactions with President Hrabowski over the next six months centered around planting the seeds for what would be the beginning of a subtle revolution in the way the university prioritized LGBT issues. He always complimented me as articulate and intelligent, and he gave all of us the sense that we were heard and respected, even if we were frustrated with the lack of immediate action on the university's part. What we couldn't see at the time was what Nancy Young and our other mentors had assured us, that our power lay not in our ability to drive hard bargains or criticize university practices, but in our ability to open the eyes of those we spoke to. When we left the President's Council meeting where we had delivered a presentation to a room full of some of the most powerful people at UMBC, there were tears and stricken faces around the conference table.

I could change more than just those around me. I could change my community.

And I did. I became deeply involved in campus culture. I had been introduced to an unquenchable thirst to make an impact. I learned that, as a student, my voice was powerful, and that sometimes asking the right question was all it took to make an impact. I stumbled and made mistakes along the way, but for the most part, the world was forgiving of my inexperience and my mentors willing to point me in the right direction when I got disoriented. I helped instigate new programs and changes in policies. I led students in creating our own change where the system did not offer us the option. I lost a student government election, but I engaged students who would otherwise never have been, and we broke a voting record with an uncontested presidential ticket.

Realities of a situation were different when I was through with them. I could change my world.

Most of my interactions with President Hrabowski during the remainder of my sophomore year were brief, but positive. He attended the Allies' Dinner I organized later that fall and delivered the opening remarks. We also often saw each other at Center for Women and IT scholar events, where he usually delivered a few words, sometimes mentioning me in his speeches. We interacted indirectly when I championed student first amendment rights at the end of the year by attaining the license to show a controversial adult film in protest after the MD State Legislature had threatened to de-fund College Park in its entirety if they allowed students to show adult films on campus. We never spoke directly about the issue, but UMBC was tied to the issue by the media, and President Hrabowski became involved in conversations about the issue partially as a result of my actions. Administration who I did interact with took my stance on the pornography issue surprisingly seriously and tried to work with me rather than cut me off or dissuade me from taking action. The respect that I was given while advocating such a demonized issue made me feel both proud of the reputation I had built for myself as an activist and grateful for those with influence and power who saw students as purposeful agents of change rather than inconvenient rebels. I could change my world, not just once, but over and over. I could purposefully and powerfully impact situational dynamics by taking calculated risks. I could do what I knew in my heart was right.

I didn't just have the potential to be an activist-- I undeniably was one at my core.
I didn't just believe that it was possible for me change the world-- I knew for certain that I would.

Each of you will have the opportunity to have an impact on thousands of lives.
Each of you.
I want you to see the vision.
I want you to think about the fact that the time will come, when you get your education, and you go on and do greater-- you can have an impact on thousands of lives.
So it is possible to imagine that your class can change the world.
Be inspired by your own story.
[Freeman Hrabowski (Convocation 2009)]

Today I had a longer conversation with Freeman Hrabowski than I've had with him in a while after a lunch set up by CWIT. During lunch, we'd spent some time discussing gender dynamics at UMBC and the role we as scholars have to play in impacting the community around us. Afterwards, he asked me about the interdisciplinary studies major I had mentioned pursuing earlier that hour, and I told him that I wanted to combine Mathematical Modeling and Sexuality Politics to form an INDS major in addition to the Chemical Engineering degree I was pursuing.

Hrabowski expressed some disappointment with that idea. He urged me to stick to Mathematical Modeling and Chemical Engineering, but to use the modeling for research in applied science or engineering rather than applying it to sexuality politics, also suggesting that I merely minor in sexuality politics so I could focus on Chemical Engineering and go on to pursue my PhD.

It's not atypical for people to react to my proposed course of study this way, so I said that I didn't think I'd be pursuing a PhD in Chemical Engineering because I was fairly certain that I wanted to be an activist, and that I wanted to double-major because I'd decided to spread my Chemical Engineering degree out over five years instead of four. I also mentioned that I still might pursue a PhD in a field more relevant to my career goals instead.

Dr. Hrabowski spent the next several minutes trying to convince me that I was too smart for that. Too smart to be an activist, too smart to take five years to graduate, and too smart not to get a PhD in Chemical Engineering or Mathematics and become a professor.

I smiled knowingly, pointing out that he himself had gotten a bachelor's degree in Mathematics but had gone on to pursue a PhD in Higher Education, and that he'd had been able to have a huge impact in areas he was passionate about as a result. I also reminded him that one of the first things he'd said to me when he met me was that I should become a lawyer.

He laughed and said that was before he knew I could do math.

There was a little more back and forth, but I don't think either of us really got through to the other. In many ways we were speaking different languages. In the end, I laughed and told him I'd look into the 5 year BS/MS program and keep a PhD in Chemical Engineering in mind, knowing that those things have been in mind all along regardless.

Hold fast to dreams.
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow
[Langston Hughs]

I once heard President Hrabowski describe how when he was a boy he used to look himself in the mirror each day and say, "Good morning, Dr. Hrabowski!" From a young age, he knew that it was his dream to pursue a PhD despite the odds against him at that time. He was a civil rights activist as a young teenager, arrested at the age of 13 for marching in the streets to protest the jailing of Martin Luther King, Jr. He was the only black student at the University of Illinois, graduating with his bachelor's degree in Mathematics at 18 and going on to earn a PhD, author two books, and transform a university from a no-name school in Baltimore to the number-one ranked up-and-coming university in the United States with almost unparalleled levels of diversity and groundbreaking academic achievement by minority students.

In many ways, President Hrabowski's disapproval of my desire to be an activist carries a lot of irony; his story is a highly relevant example of someone who was brilliant at mathematics and succeeded despite the odds against him, but opted to enter a less prestigious field in order to make a difference.

Hrabowski changed his world. Hrabowski changed a lot of worlds.

The Langston Hughs poem above is often quoted to Meyerhoff scholars to remind them to stay the course and pursue their dreams of earning a PhD. And in some ways, maybe that is a reasonable application, because one of the pretenses for entering the program is an intention to pursue a PhD. But today, I'd like to quote this poem back at President Hrabowski, because once upon a time, I had dreams of being an activist, and now I am. I still have dreams of changing the world, and I will.

I refuse to believe that my ability to excel at something is indicative of an obligation or destiny to proceed down that path. I don't doubt that I could be a great researcher or chemical engineer. And I don't doubt my brilliance or my ability to succeed despite the odds. But I have a dream. I have something to contribute. I see things that need to change, and I am going to change them.

As David Hoffman points out, my destiny is in my hands. Whether the path I choose is truly reflective of my own goals and values or merely rises to meet other people’s expectations is up to me. There is no such thing as being too smart to pursue my passion. Passion is the one thing that no one can take from me. It is the ultimate investment.

So what do I think?

I think I speak out against injustice because conversations need to be started.
I think I take actions because they are right, not because they are safe.
I think I am effective. I think I am a force to reckon with.
I think I can and will change the world.

Watch your thoughts, for they become your words.
Watch your words, for they become your actions.
Watch your actions, for they become your habits.
Watch your habits, for they become your character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.
[Freeman Hrabowski]

[everything i ever wanted... but differently]

2009-08-30T22:01:00.006-04:00

So I spent the last two weeks of my summer on a lot of firsts. First Amtrak train ride, first time traveling by myself, and my first trip to the western United States. It was an incredible feeling to step out of the train station in Chicago and explore downtown on my own. I've spent the last two years being independent, so such feelings usually don't phase me, but something about being hundreds of miles away from home by myself felt different. Seeing the western states on the way to Nevada by train and then by airplane on the way back was incredible. And something about traveling so far on my own felt like I was claiming something. It gave me a lot of time to reflect on myself and the world around me, to forge hopes and dreams in a material perhaps stronger than anything I've used before.

As the airplane descended on the scattered blanket of Christmas lights that was the Baltimore metropolis, I felt a surge of something warm and mighty. It was so good to be home. I hadn't felt so glad to see Baltimore since I returned from my last trip to India at the age of thirteen.

Today I dumped out my backpack on the floor of my bedroom and headed out to grab some groceries. As I strolled down Calvert street, historical townhouses on either side of me, I couldn't help but realize how very awesome it was that I was living in Mount Vernon.

Sure, I was forced out of my housing at UMBC and had to live out of a backpack for five weeks. Sure, the commute to UMBC without a car will be difficult and time-consuming. Sure, I live in a warehouse space with lead paint in the ceiling, no air conditioning, and rust in the pipes. But in spite of how I got here, I am somewhere I have wanted to be for a long time.

If you asked 17-year-old me what I would do next if I could do anything, I'm sure I would have told you that I wanted to go to college. I knew I wanted to live on campus my freshman year, but I dreamed of living in downtown Baltimore someday. If you told 17-year-old me that when I was 20, I'd be living in Mount Vernon with four good friends, attending UMBC on a full scholarship, and studying mathematics, chemical engineering, sexuality politics, and how to change the world, I think the elicited response would have been "FUCK YEAH!"

I have less money than I'd like right now. Some weeks I eat a little less than I'd like. The commute to UMBC is somewhat long. I have to work more hours than I'd like, and I get to do fewer extracurriculars as a result. I have a few more credit-hours in my class schedule than I think I can handle. I'm worried about paying for books, making rent, and paying for food. Money and time are my major limitations, and they are stressful ones to have without much of a support system in place.

Coming home let me, for a moment, look beyond those stress factors at where I actually am in life. And I realized, today, that I am exactly where I have wanted to be for a long time. If anything, I got there even faster than I thought possible.

I'm worried about how the pieces will fall together. I am worried about failing myself. I am worried about not being able to handle my own life. Maybe everything I wanted is really too much for me. There is a feeling of security within the walls of UMBC, even if the reality is that I am on my own either way. If my life falls apart in the city, and I am living out of my backpack or doing nothing important with my life, that seems fine. No major consequences. If my life falls apart and I'm taking classes, and I fail out of school...

My faith in myself has been wavering. I'm having trouble believing that I can do or handle anything I want. I'm worried about what will happen this semester, and that makes enjoying where I am in life hard.

But boy is my life awesome. Sometimes I just need to remind myself. I have everything I ever wanted. Just differently.

UMBC Fall 2009, bring it on.

[phase iii]

2009-08-13T19:28:00.002-04:00

[thirteen]

Halfway around the globe, a bead of sweat hit the sink. I had just stepped out of the shower, but salty-sweet sweat had already crept out of my pores, mixing with the water that coated my hair and skin. Even after two months in India, I still took hot showers. Wrapping a towel around my thin, prepubescent body, I tiptoed down the hallway, a stolen razor clutched against me. The room where I slept was empty. I latched the door and hid the razor carefully among my things before towel-drying my short, dark hair. I watched myself in the mirror.

My skin was darker than I'd ever seen it from the India sun, and my legs were unfamiliarly smooth. My body had yet to catch up with those of the other girls I went to school with, though, and I hated my short-cropped hair. I felt silly in girls' clothes. I sat on the bed and traced the ragged, painful tears in the skin of my upper arms- my mother's doing.

A surge of anger rushed through me. I hadn't deserved those. I usually didn't.

I wasn't sure whether to hate my brother or my mother or myself. I felt empty and lonely. I didn't know what I wanted, but I was tired of giving in. I wanted to speak up for myself. I wanted to stop feeling so insecure. I wanted some control over my life, and, in a foreign country, where I didn't speak the language, thousands of miles from anyone I trusted, I had never felt more powerless.

But life wasn't all bad. Tomorrow I turned thirteen, which meant presents, my favorite cake from Birdie's, and a call from my dad. I wondered if being a teenager would feel different from being twelve.

I hoped with everything I had that it did.

[twenty]

The body in the mirror is different now. Almost everything is different. The daring action is not to shave my legs in secret, but to refuse to do so at all. I have grown my hair and I have cut it all off. I don't feel so silly in girls' clothes any more. I have incredible self-confidence in my body image. And no one, no one, has laid a hand on me in many years. There are no more physical scars to cradle.

It turns out that thirteen-year-old me didn't really understand what I wanted. I don't want to look like all the others. I don't envy the blond hair, the Disneyland vacations, the material possessions. I don't envy the money or seemingly painless lives or boyfriends or family dinners. I know now that what I thought I wanted so badly at the age of thirteen is really not what I wanted at all. It is the opposite of what I have grown to be, to value, to crave.

How much has changed over the course of my teenage years.

It's so easy to summarize who I was at thirteen, but who am I now? What vignette can I paint that symbolizes this year? Is it a portrait of a fading teenager on a Baltimore City sidewalk, leaning back on an overstuffed blue backpack, eating raw ramen noodles and peaches from Lexington Market? Is it a snapshot of a smiling young woman in a grey suit blazer, graciously accepting an award for emerging leadership at a college award ceremony? Is it a heated dialogue between advisor and student-activist on the second floor of the UMBC Commons? Is it a lonely girl, sitting in the windowsill of the fifth floor of a warehouse in Baltimore City, gazing out over Penn Station with a cigarette between her lips and wondering what comes next?

If I know anything for certain about what these coming years will hold, it's that I haven't got a clue what that is. If I understand anything, it's that I understand very little about my place in this world. Maybe when I finished high school I knew almost everything there was to know about myself, but I sure as hell didn't have a clue how those things related to the world around me. In many ways I still don't. And without a context those revelations mean much less than I thought.

It's time to move on. I felt it as my second year at UMBC drew to a close. Am I ready to move into the next phase of my life? I asked myself cautiously as I chose to leave the UMBC campus behind to seek home elsewhere. I didn't know that the answer was yes at the time but I did know that avoiding stagnancy was worth the risk of not being ready.

Now I know the answer though. I can feel a new phase beginning. I'm growing restless of the limitations of college life, and sometimes I wonder if the best thing that this scholarship will ever do for me is show me what college is not, so that I don't spend the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself because an economic barrier kept me from reaching my "potential."

What is seven years? On my 27th birthday, will I be reading this and shaking my head, scolding myself for my stupidity? Will what I want then be the opposite of what I want now?

One thing is almost certain: the vast majority of my life is before me. As much as I feel like I have in my past, as much as I think I have lived and seen, it is nothing compared to what is coming. I have so much of my life left to live, left to discover. There are so many adventures to be had. There are so many worlds to build around myself for a time and then leave behind, only to move on to the next. Maybe there will be pieces that I will carry with me, and maybe I will leave everything behind. But the adventure is far from over. It has hardly begun.

[what matters]

I spent 15 years trying to figure out why you couldn't give me what I needed. And I've spent the last 5 trying to figure out how to give it to myself since you didn't.

What took me 15 years to figure out is that it doesn't matter why you couldn't or didn't. That's your problem. That's your life. It doesn't have a thing to do with me except that maybe I don't like that about you.

What matters is why I can't give you what I want to give. What matters is why I can't love you just because you didn't love me the way I needed.

That is the only question that is relevant to this life. To me.

It's time to stop blaming you for all the pain I have felt for so long. The fault is irrelevant. I'm past the point where I need to remind myself that it was your fault just to convince myself that it wasn't mine. Your inability to love me unconditionally is nothing compared to the pain that my inability to love others unconditionally has caused me. And I am the only one who can fix that.

I'm 20 years into my life. It's time to let go. It's time to stop searching for an answer that isn't there and doesn't matter. It's time to take hold of my own heart and fix what has perhaps always been broken. The solution is inside me.

It's over. An era is over. Something new will begin now. I'm six steps out the door and I've already let the keys slip away into the gutter.

[what exactly does finance board do?]

2009-04-07T17:33:00.007-04:00

I decided to take notes at a Finance Board meeting like I did at the Senate meeting. Same disclaimer applies. These notes are from my perspective and may be somewhat biased. They do not reflect everything that was said and are not representative of the views of the SGA or the SGA Finance Board. I am running for Vice President for Student Organizations for next year and will have a vote on this board if elected.

--------------------

Harsh called the meeting to order at 5:33 PM.

Everyone was present except for Stefan (who arrived later).

The Finance Board approved the 3/24/09 minutes for posting. Harsh asked about the 3/31/09 minutes, and Emily Han asked that someone proofread them for grammar before posting.

--------------------

Musicians for World Peace came to discuss Rock for Relief, a concert promoting social justice and featuring many UMBC bands. They are expecting about 300 students and will be advertising through commonvision with a banner, fliers, and spotlights. It will be in the UC Ballroom from 6-10pm on April 27th.

The Finance Board members present unanimously approved $700 for the event. They told the organization's representative that he would receive an email when the funds were available.

--------------------

James brought the constitutional amendment to eliminate the Student Organizations Advocate position (passed last night at the Senate meeting) before the Finance Board for discussion. It passed with the necessary 2/3 vote. The student body will vote on this amendment during the election.

--------------------

Alpha Nu Omega came to discuss their Man Up / Sister-to-Sister event, which will be set as a battle of the sexes. They expect about 30-50 people. Yasmin asked what the benefit of this discussion will be to campus and where they got their quotes from. ANQ said they were trying to provide an open place to discuss how people view the opposite sex and explained about the quotes.

The funding for this event passed.

They also talked about their Sex and the City event. It will be a panel of people in various stages of relationships talking about their relationships. At the end of the event, people will have an opportunity to take a purity vow to remain abstinent until marriage. Sorrento's will be catering the event. It will be in Lecture Hall 6 at 7:30 pm on 4/23/09.

After some discussion about the whether the purity wristbands were central enough to the event to justify paying $170 for them, the finance board decided to decrease the number of wristbands from 200 to 100 to better reflect the expected attendance of the event. This decreased the cost to $100. The funding for this event passed.

Then ANQ talked about ANQ week as a whole, which is when these events will take place. They asked for money for an advertising package for the week. ($175)

The funding for ANQ week's marketing package passed.

--------------------

The National Panhellenic Council went next to talk about the NPHC Cookout. They wanted to have a small cookout open to the campus community before any of the concerts or events to raise awareness to the campus community about who they as an organization are. It would be in Walker Avenue at 2 PM on Saturday, April 19th and would be free and open to all UMBC students. They expect roughly 50 people to come out to the event. They will be advertising using small paper fliers and facebook. Vegetarian options will be available.

David expressed concerns about the event being on the same day as Quadmania, and Harsh expressed concerns about whether the event was relevent to their mission statement. Yasmin, James, and I all stated that we thought the event was relevant to the group's mission statement and that the organization was trying to reach out to the campus community. I expressed that I did not think having it on the same day as Quadmania was a negative thing, because Quadmania is not free for students and not everyone can afford to attend, so this would give them an alternative. The Finance Board funded the full amount of the event.

--------------------

PakSA came to discuss PakSA Night, a play in the UC Ballroom at 7 pm May 3rd. They got the quotes for food from an outside restaurant and expect to sell about 400 tickets. They also discussed what decorations they want to secure for the event. They will be charging extra for VIP seating in the front but seating in the back will be free for UMBC students. There are 60 VIP seats that will cost $10 apiece.

There was a lot of discussion about the VIP seating. Harsh was especially concerned that student fees would be paying for this event, but that students wouldn't have the opportunity to have the best seats in the house. I suggested cutting out around $600 of funding since the organization would make around $600 from VIP ticket sales. The Finance Board eventually (with PakSA's encouragement) decided to cut out the cost of the tables (and decorations) where the VIP guests would be sitting. The new total came to $3932. The funding passed.

--------------------

Filmmakers Anonymous came to discuss Lightstruck, the UMBC film festival. Student volunteers and others will act as judges. The event will be held at the Creative Alliance. They are expecting 150-200 people. Some questions were asked about venue cost, venue location, percentage expected to UMBC students, how and where advertising will happen, what decorations they would be needing, and what role food played in the event.

Concerns were raised about the event being off campus and making sure that UMBC students got priority in attending the event. It was suggested that tickets be given to students in advance and sold at the door to everyone else wishing to attend. The finance board decided to cut the money that would go to non-umbc students, such as money for off-campus advertising. The new total was $1600. The vote was 3-1 for funding. Yasmin, Silva, and Stefan voted to fund the event, James opposed, and Harsh abstained.

They then considered whether to fund the Lightstruck Judge Day, which was for judges of the event. They voted unanimously not to fund the event because it was only for 13 people and was not open to everyone.

--------------------

The Finance Board considered the Retriever ROTC Club's request for Call of Duty Night. The Finance Board voted unanimously against the event because the club was charging people to enter the tournament and was also using the event as a fundraiser.

--------------------

SEA's Ecofest was considered next. A brief discussion about whether it was okay to fund supplies for decorating t-shirts since we didn't fund professionally-made t-shirts ensued. The Finance Board voted to fund the full amount.

--------------------

Anime Society's Spring Marathon (24 hours of anime) was considered. This is an event that they do every semester. The Finance Board voted to fund the full amount of the event.

--------------------

S.I.S.T.E.R.S' Ladies Night event was considered. They are a restricted funded organization (becuse they are not open to men) who wanted to have an event with manicures pedicures, eyebrow waxing, and massages that was open to everyone. Concerns about this event not having a significant purpose related to their mission statement and the event not showing a significant effort to reach out to those not in their organization (for example, men). The Finance Board voted unanimously not to fund the event.

--------------------

The Honors College Council's Mirror Ball was considered next. There were concerns raised because the Honors College Council is not an actual student organization, and it is open to all students. (James pointed out that they were attempting to become a student organization.) Yasmin pointed out that, at this point, the money was coming out of our General Ledger since we had already allocated all of our student organization money for the year and we should scrutinize the event carefully. She also expressed concerns about the purpose of the event being purely social. Catherine suggested that since the Honors College Council was not a student organization, they should use their own money for the event. James said he thought that this event was open to everyone and beneficial to the campus community. The Finance Board's final vote was 2-2. James and Silva voted for, Stefan and Yasmin opposed, and Harsh abstained. The motion failed because 50% is not a majority and a majority is needed to pass the motion.

--------------------

At this point I had to leave the meeting. I do know that an MCS COM event and another SEA event was considered after I left, but I'm not sure what the decision was. Hopefully this post will cause less controversy than the last one. Either way check out my platform and my facebook group and VOTE PAULA MCCUSKER FOR VPSO!

[what exactly does your sga senate do?]

2009-03-30T22:28:00.004-04:00

I'm tired of students not having any idea what goes on in SGA. I don't know whose fault it is, but I decided to post some notes I took during tonight's meeting. These are biased and incomplete because they are from my perspective, but the official minutes will be posted on the official SGA announcements blog... eventually. (Seriously, the last Senate update is from 2/23/09.)

I'm sitting here in the Senate meeting. It's 5:30 PM, and we're in room 318 of the Commons.

Rahilla, speaker of the Senate, calls the meeting to order.

Katie Boone, director of Residential Life, presents a slide show about the new Displaced Students Policy and other changes this year. I stated that I thought Residential Life should have told students about this in the Fall when they made the decision instead of waiting until so recently. Katie insisted that they did in fact publicize the policy when the decision was being made and that she couldn't help it if students ignored the publications or didn't read them. I don't remember seeing anything. The song and dance about information being available and students "choosing" not to read, however, it is not new to me.

I also grilled her about the decision to switch from Walker leases to Walker licenses and expressed frustration with the lack of student involvement in the policy, the short notice given to students, and the utter removal of student/tenant rights in favor of making it easier to Capstone and Residential Life to remove students. Katie admitted that the decision was made to make it easier for them and apologized that the policy had made me unhappy. She said she didn't even think students would notice the policy change, much less care about it or face difficulties because of it. I have to move off-campus next year because I have no where else to go in the case that I did get kicked out and couldn't risk that happening.

Katie then talked a little bit about upcoming renovations to the residential areas and asked the Senate to give input by show of hands what renovation should be done next between more patio/grilling areas, a tennis court, a basketball court, or a volleyball court. The Senate and others present overwhelmingly voted for a basketball court in the area of the residence halls.

Katie finished at 6:20, and we moved into a review of the past week's activities.

Whitney said she met with Ken Baron.

Rahilla announced that RSA elections are coming up, as is Dog-a-palooza.

At 6:23 we moved into legislation.

The Retriever Weekly budget ($45,500), which comes out of the SGA budget, was passed without any discussion. (EDIT: Minutes from a previous meeting where this was discussed.)

Rahilla asked whether anyone moved to vote on the next piece of legislation, the SEB budget ($163,000). Toby asked whether we'd be discussing this or not, and Rahilla said she'd assumed we were all comfortable voting already. Toby expressed a concern about the Quadmania show appealing to such a small group of people for such a high cost. Amber said different artists were chosen every year and students were welcome to give input. Jen pointed out that we had asked for a more detailed budget and we never got one. Rahilla decided to table this piece of legislation until next week. (EDIT: Minutes from a previous meeting where this was discussed before.)

Kati Henry, the election board chair, presented an amendment to the SGA Constitution which would allow first semester transfer students to run for SGA office using their cumulative GPA from their previous college(s) since they would not yet have an established GPA at UMBC at the time of the election application. For example, this would apply to students who transferred at the beginning of a Spring semester and wanted to run for an elected position for the upcoming year. Many present had positive things to say about the amendment. Jen Kent moved to approve, and the amendment passed.

The next item of business was approving the SGA budget for the 2009-2010 school year. The only discussion point was one I raised. Even though we had discussed replacing the elected positions of Student Organization Advocates with appointed positions under the Vice President of Student Organizations, the stipends ($500 x 5) for Student Organization Advocates were not indicated in the budget to be spent on VPSO staff if the amendment to eliminate the Student Organization Advocates passed. I thought that if we were proposing to eliminate $2500 worth of staff resources for student organizations and replace them with VPSO staff, we needed to indicate that we would commit that same $2500 to supporting student organizations with staff. The purpose of eliminating the Student Organization Advocates was to fix a broken system, not take money away from the support of student organizations. Others disagreed with me and said it should be left in the executive fund and left to the discretion of the SGA President and Treasurer, citing that other executive staff often weren't paid and the fact that the VPSO might choose not to hire staff. The budget passed unanimously without further discussion.

Yasmin proposed a piece of legislation to allocate an additional $10,000 to student organizations. After some discussion on why this was necessary, the legislation passed.

James McCauley proposed a piece of legislation to provide funding to fix Erikson field and maintain its upkeep by seeding and aerating the field after each major campus event and fertilizing it three times per year. The proposed cost was $2,600. Josh Paiva asked if this cost included drainage. James explained that aerating the field would take care of most of that problem, but that draining would be an additional cost. Simmi asked if we should be the ones paying for this. James replied by saying that we as an organization were one of the primary users and destroyers of the field and that many students use this field for recreational sports. Brian Frazee expressed concern about the fiscal responsibility of us paying for a project that was not guaranteed to succeed, citing failed past attempts to fix Erikson field. He suggested lobbying facilities management or waiting until another year to attempt this project. James explained that in the past, the field had been seeded but not aerated or watered, which is why past attempts to fix the field had failed. Josh suggested paying student organizations to do the work instead of paying facilities management. James replied that the scope of the project didn't lend itself to such a solution, but that he'd considered it. Chidi asked how we would keep people from using the field. James replied that we wanted people to use the field and that the idea was not to stop them. The idea was to maintain the field after events such as the bonfire destroyed it so that it would not decline in quality throughout the year. Amber expressed support for the project and asked where the quotes came from. James said facilities management took care of that using the bid system required by state law. Jen Kent asked why the cost was so low. James said facilities management was covering part of the cost. Yasmin asked who James spoke to at facilities management and James said Donna Anderson. Yasmin said she talked to Mr. Donoland (sp?) who had told her about other master plans to do much more work on Erikson field in the future and expressed concern over spending money now when these plans might be on the way. Brian Frazee said that he thought our job was to fund student organization events, etc., not fix the field. James asked if the Senate wanted him to have the contractor come in to speak to them.

At this point, I expressed disappointment in the Senate for being so hostile toward this project. I pointed out that I did not think that our job was purely to fund student organization events. There are many students on this campus who would very much like to see Erikson field fixed but may never go to student organization events or SGA events. Those students pay a student activity fee too and playing frisbee is just as legitimate an activity as a costly event in the UC Ballroom. I was disappointed because I do not think that the Senate is truly representing all students if it says that fixing the field is less legitimate an expense than funding an event. The discussion was tabled after a few responses.

At 7:25 we moved into committee reports.

The "Extending Library Hours" committee is looking into making the Chil-Fil-A a 24-hour study space and is meeting with President's Council (President Hrabowski) to discuss extending the library hours. (Reported by Toby Le.)

The "Black and Gold Signage" committee reported something I wasn't paying attention to (Whitney). Toby Le added that making the red card into a black and gold card was progressing.

Josh Paiva reported back for the "Investigating Fees" committee. They are investigating laundry fees because many other USM schools charge a flat fee for laundry per semester instead of charging to do laundry. He is also investigating printing fees because at many other institutions printing is free.

At 7:40 we moved into executive reports.

Some people said some stuff.

Gabe is firing the Director of Diversity Affairs, Damola Sijuwade, because he has missed the last three executive cabinet meetings and has not responded to any emails since Gabe took office. Cabinet directors make a stipend of approximately $1,000 per school year.

Josh Paiva reported back from RSA. The only thing that caught my ears is that they want to look into removing the Designated Smoking Areas that are within 20 feet of academic buildings and move them further away from buildings.

Brian Frazee suggested that we pass legislation to encourage organizations and individuals not to hold events on reading day (May 13). Yasmin and I pointed out that we are unveiling the Green Space (from ProveIT!) on reading day. Some further discussion ensued.

Michael Hincke wanted to discuss why it was so difficult to get a temporary parking permit from parking services (having to request in advance, parking services having limited hours) at the next meeting. Jen Kent suggested he talk to parking services.

At this point I stopped paying attention for a little while for reasons unknown to me. I don't think anything terribly important was missed.

Lynn Shafer is coming to the Senate meeting next week. She decides stuff about fees. We're going to talk about how to make sure that if the student body passes the increased student activity fee, we actually get to implement it. (UMBC can only raise its fees by 4% each year, and what could happen is that UMBC could deny raising the student activity fee so that they can raise other fees to use up that full 4%.)

The meeting adjourned around 8. We passed the gavel around and each made brief comments on how the meeting went. Gabe Rettaliata, the SGA President, expressed disappointment in the way the meeting had gone but refrained from commenting further.

Want to come to a Senate meeting and see how things go for yourself? Then be in Commons 318 next Monday at 5:30 PM!

[outsider]

2008-11-22T15:34:00.003-05:00

So... it seems like all the cool kids have a blog. I used to blog a lot in high school, but it was mostly emo ranting about how much I didn't like my parents and couldn't wait until I could move out and get away from them. Since I did manage to move out... well, a lot has happened. I'm a very different person, I think, but in many ways I'm very much the same.

A smart person sat me down a few weeks into freshman year and told me that although I had a lot of fire and a lot of passion, I would have to learn how to communicate my views to other people if I really wanted to have an affect on anything at this school. Boy, was I irritated. What did this person know about my struggle, about everything that I had gone through in my life? Why should I sugar-coat what I believed? Wasn't it everyone else's problem if they found me intimidating or found my message overwhelming?

As I think back on the amount of personal growth that I have experienced since that first meeting with my CWIT (Center for Women and Information Technology) adviser, I feel as though I have entered a very new stage in my life. I'm moving out of figuring out who I am and what I believe, and I'm moving into figuring out how to move beyond myself and make a difference in a larger community.

In a recent Freedom Alliance meeting about Allies (straight people who are supportive of the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and Questioning community), I asked the club members to discuss whether they thought we should be actively recruiting people to be our allies. The responses were varied, but it seemed like, for the most part, people felt like it wasn't our job to ask other people to be allies because we would just be bothering them ("beating them over the head with a rainbow flag"), and that if people were interested in being allies then they could just come to our meetings.

My personal challenge to myself is to find the place between beating someone over the head with a rainbow flag and silence. I do not believe that change can come about without leaders who are willing to make people think about issues that they would not otherwise care about. I believe that I am a leader, and as long as there is injustice in the world, it is my job to fight that injustice, even if it is just by talking about the issue to spread awareness.

Maybe that's just me being a little bit idealistic. Only time will tell. I've started going to SGA meetings because I feel like an outsider to the inner-core of student-leadership. And amazingly, after just a few weeks, I don't feel like such an outsider anymore. All it seems to be taking is a few hours of my time each week, and I can already see the edges of change beginning to curl up before my eyes. I am optimistic.

[tofurkey]

2008-11-24T21:55:00.004-05:00

I am happy to report that:

- apparently students WANT to pay $8 per transcript
- advising thinks that two sentences counts as a comprehensive FAQ
- senators don't have enough time to do research between senate meetings
- I said something that was apparently a good idea during senate today
- tofurkey is pretty yummy but, as predicted, I do not like brown rice in my stuffing
- bookstore bob is not altogether truthful (surprise! capitalism!)
- textbook consignment shop > textbook swap
- josh michael gives good hair tips
- many people did not appreciate my lack of thankfulness due to my lack of belief in a deity

Thanksgiving Potluck was pretty yummy but paled in comparison to last year's. My dish got left in Gi's freezer. =( Overall, successful event though. Doug was there, anyway, so that made it legit. Apparently keeping the oven on/at 350 was too complicated though so a lot of the food was cold(ish).

Part of me wonders how many students stay here over Thanksgiving. If I thought people would come I would probably cook a big dinner and invite all the stragglers over, but that's an advertising nightmare in and of itself.

Ok this post doesn't really have a point and it's entering the rambling stage so I guess that's it. All I really wanted to do was have a post called "tofurkey" anyway. =)

[somewhere i have never travelled]

2008-12-07T01:08:00.004-05:00

This week, I was asked a question which I could not answer. Not a factual question, but a question about me. I like to think that I know a lot about myself, but this... this I could not answer. I could not even bullshit an answer. I had to smile and shrug off the question in a manner that convinced no one that I was not bothered by this.

But now I'm pretty sure I know. I am, as so often is true of the human condition, afraid. I am afraid because right now I am in good graces. I may not be perfect, but thus far my flaws are few and forgivable. I am an outsider, revealing what I want you to see when I want you to see it. Although what I show you is genuine, I am living a lie of omission simply by not allowing myself to be immersed any deeper.

I am afraid of that look in your eyes when you find a flaw that is not forgivable. I am afraid to fall because I am so tired of picking myself up and moving on. I am well-versed in picking myself up after I fall, but ill-versed at making amends. But mostly I am tired.

I want more, but I'm having trouble with the give-and-take. Hopefully, I'll figure it out before the novelty wears off.

[the future is history]

2008-12-08T01:12:00.003-05:00

I found this post from March of last year (senior year of high school) on an old blog of mine and thought I'd paste in part of it. It's good to remember where I came from and how far I have come. It's good to remember that I did something right, at some point.

i walked onto the campus of umbc and it took my breath away. not because its beautiful or huge or crowded or amazing in any other way, but because it was real. because i could run my fingers across the brickwork on the engineering building and it left scratches on my fingertips. because when the wind blew across campus it send loose tendrils of my hair whipping across my face. because i could smell the water from the duck pond as i passed by, portfolio clutched tightly in one hand as i anticipated the interview.

if i get this scholarship, i'll move out. i'll go to college. i'll be in a great engineering program with extensive internship and research opportunities. hell, maybe i'll even get to have a girlfriend, finally. i'll get to do all of the things i always knew i would if it killed me to get there, and they will be real. everything i will have fought for will finally be real.

i'm the kid climbing that impossible tree. i can see the very top branch, but the next handhold looks flimpsy, and i don't know if it will hold me. but all i can do is reach out and launch myself into it, because if it breaks, it breaks, and i will fall. but if it holds, i'll finally be where i need to be.

my fingertips close around the branch...

i have never been much of a dreamer. i don't know what comes next, but i do know that in the end, it will be me who surpasses the expectations of a lonely seventeen year old girl with her whole life before her.

[and i did]

[between the margin and the edge]

2008-12-11T20:35:00.003-05:00

I think sometimes I forget that I am human.

I often speak, in my efforts of consciousness-raising, about marginalization. About how politically and socially, I and others like me are still marginalized. I propose solutions to the causes of this marginalization, and I try to speak out against institutionalized complacency toward it. I try to explain how I and others that I know are marginalized to those who do not understand, and sometimes the injustice of it all causes me to lose my temper behind the safety of my keyboard.

But it is I who have become complacent. I have learned to expect that I will be marginalized. I have learned to be quietly angry and loudly political. My lack of basic civil rights has become integrated with my life, and my level of societal privilege often shifts depending on the legal sex of my current dating partner. An outer layer of me is passionate about fighting these injustices, but the very core of my being has backed into a corner to make room for this newer, more active, more invulnerable me. An inner part of my has learned that feeling hurt, ashamed, or outraged only hinders my outward progress through life as an activist.

Today I was reminded how important it is to learn to contain and express my feelings while still allowing myself to be hurt, ashamed, or outraged. I'm not sure why things hit me quite the way they did, but I was reminded today how very vulnerable, how very human, I still am. While I am pleased with the way I expressed my level of disappointment, I am more concerned about the fact that today I felt more than disappointment. I was hurt. I was a little ashamed.

I'm not sure how comfortable I am with allowing these layers of myself to fully mesh. There is a level of safety in only sharing what is easily understood. There is a level of safety in only sharing parts of myself in which I have confidence.

My sense of logic knows that being listened to, being taken seriously, should be enough. Progress should be enough to keep me feeling pleased with myself. The fact that I, in my small way, am inciting some sort of social change, should leave me with positive feelings about my day.

Unfortunately, today my blood runs rather thin. Picking at an old scab might perhaps have been an unwise choice of self-violation, because now I can't apply enough pressure to make the bleeding stop.

[finality]

2008-12-16T05:34:00.005-05:00

I am a miserable, sleep-deprived, stressed-out UMBC college student who is still awake at 5:30 AM, studying for finals. And yet, as I glance at my AIM and Facebook buddy lists, I can take comfort in the fact that I am at least not the only one.

My blog has been lacking updates, but all the campus blogs have been lacking updates. I have time to procrastinate with lots of Facebook updates but not enough time to blog. Sadly this blog post will take less time than those daily games of Word Challenge on Facebook.

Why doesn't blogspot think Facebook is a word? Worse yet, why doesn't blogspot think blogspot is a word?

Things that have been getting me through the week:
- Vitamin Energy drinks
- Pasta Roni
- vitamin c tablets
- Rolaids
- vending machine food
- broken vending machines that give you three bottles of water for the price of one
- Elliot Smith
- Muse
- Pandora radio
- AIM
- sports' bras
- highlighters
- ice water
- Post-it flags
- pillows
- alarm clocks
- orange juice
- Hello Kitty pajamas

Things that have been making life difficult:
- non-functioning wireless router
- relationship turmoils
- crappy weather
- hangnails

Most importantly, I think the point of this somewhat-pointless post is that I'm glad I have my friends here at UMBC to go through all this with me. Somehow knowing that I am not the only person who is staying up until ridiculous hours of the morning to study makes it all feel a little less insane.

Also, clearly I should not write blog posts at 5:30 AM. Note to self: do not do that again.

...That will be all.

[the last day of the best year of my life]

2008-12-31T02:44:00.004-05:00

It's the last day of a good year.

This year I felt myself evolve as a person in ways that I haven't felt in years. I flopped between various levels of social privilege based on the gender of my current dating partner. I shifted from social organizer to activist. I adopted a new identity-label and quickly rejected that new label in favor of a anti-label, a representation of my total rejection of the separatism within a movement. I have begun to question my lifestyle choices, my major, my career goals, my priorities, and my flaws. I have recognized that though I am but one small person, I am gifted with the ability to make a large impact on those around me. I am internally conflicted as I consider the direction my future will pursue.

"Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Pursue" is the U.S. military's latest policy on how to deal with homosexual/bisexual service members. Under this policy, established by President Clinton, service members will not be asked if they are homosexual/bisexual as a condition of military service, but will be honorably discharged if it is discovered or revealed that they are homosexual or bisexual (as per the military's suspicions/definitions).

A year ago, this policy meant a few things to me:
- As an individual that values integrity in my self-identity, I could not consider myself to be eligible for the ROTC program. As an individual receiving no parental financial support, this was especially meaningful to me, as this would have been a realistic way to fund my education. The cost of the scholarship would have been lying about my identity (be it a lie of omission) for 4-8 years and remaining silent about the injustices that continue to face queer people. It was a price I was unwilling to pay to a college education.
- This is/was another representation of the way that queer people are institutionally marginalized in ways that other social groups are not, purely because of an identity that does not affect a situation directly.
- This policy is/was an example that those who would oppose the queer rights movement point(ed) to in order to exemplify the idea that the American people are not ready for the equality of LGBTQAblahblahblahXYZ people.

This year, ROTC turned into a mechanism that I could use in my favor. When UMBC announced that it was considering an application to become an ROTC host site, I knew a few things:
- From the tone of the email sent to the student body, it was clear that a decision had already been made, be it in principle and perhaps not yet in practice.
- The town meetings being held to discuss this issue must include a discussion of the fact that the military's DADT policy is in conflict with the USM's non-discrimination policy, which guarantees students protection from discrimination based on sexual orientation.
- I had to be a part of that discussion. I had to speak up. I had to. I was not perhaps ready, and I did not know what I could possibly say that people would listen to, but I had to go fight this looming injustice. I had to.
- I was angry. I was hurt. I had chosen UMBC because here I saw few barriers to feeling some semblance of equality. The non-discrimination policy... it had promised. It had promised that my identity was held equal to well-protected identities such as race, ethnicity, and sex. It had promised that UMBC would be a safe place where no authority could tell me that my identity should be kept in the bedroom. It had lied.

As I went through the process of speaking at those town meetings and participating in the aftermath: considering and rejecting protests, meeting with administrators, shaking unfamiliar hands, doing news interviews, memorizing a lot of names and faces, and becoming recognized as a young activist; I always wondered, Why? Why are we even having this conversation? Why do I, as a student who just wants to be treated with respect and dignity, have to convince you that my identity is worthy of protecting? Why am I still defending my right to not be treated like a second-class citizen? Why here, where I was promised that I would not have to do that? I was confused and angered, but that only fueled my passion. For the first time in my life, people were really listening to me.

15 minutes of fame later, I am reflecting on the role that I will take up on this campus in 2009. DADT is still in place, but that specific policy was never THE issue. The real issue was always that I am not truly protected or equal on this campus. Beyond that, the major issue is that many groups are not truly protected or equal on this campus, and somebody needs to speak up for them.

I am afraid of being overly-political, and I am afraid of not being political enough. But despite these background fears and my overt consciousness of my pivotal position on this campus, I am doing. I am not just blogging about my woes on this campus. I am doing. I am changing. I am making noise.

Last year I was bisexual, and if you asked me about my gender-identity, I probably would have hesitated before making up an answer dependent upon what I thought you wanted to hear. Throughout the year, I toyed with with words like "transgender" and "genderqueer". I had never truly felt like a "woman", but I had also considered that I might be FTM (female to male) transgender when I was younger, and had decided that I was not. I never felt like or identified with women, but I also didn't want to be a man. I didn't need to shift to a different category to be who I was. I just needed to stop thinking about myself in terms of a societally-defined category. As a matter of fact, fuck societally-defined gender categories! I reject that system. I will not define myself or others based on arbitrary biological assignments. Gender is not a binary, and I refuse to participate in a system that defines it as such! is pretty much the gist of what went through my head.

The word transgender, as an umbrella term for anyone who does not identify with the gender assigned to them at birth, did indeed describe me, but another battle altogether against separatism within the queer community was taking place inside of my. I was tired of having to redefine the labels I identified with and therefore shift categories withing the community. Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Transgender. Questioning. Intersex. Asexual. Ally. Pansexual. Polyamorous. Curious. Crossdressing. Straight. Pink. Orange. Short. Fat. Elephant. Pancake. Scribble. Lint. I was tired of the incessant need for categorization. I decided that on principle, I truly identified with the word Queer, which is, in my eyes, an anti-label of sorts. Queer means different things to different people. For me, "I'm queer," means, "I'm human, and please don't assume that my sexual orientation or gender-identity match the norm. Thanks." The use of this word removes the need for me to constantly question the current state of my identity in order to explain it to others, and also envokes solidarity whenever I meet another person of queer identity. It matters not what that person's sex, gender-identity, or sexual partner preference are, only that we are both queer. In that aspect, we are in solidarity.

I am in a frightening position because I feel as though I can do anything. I am afraid to discover that I am not, in fact, capable of changing the world around me. I fear complacency and silence. I fear failure, even though I know that I have the courage to pick myself back up.

But I am excited. I am filled with passion. A new year is dawning, and I am at the edge of a cliff with my wings tucked behind me.

This is the first year that I have not continued my tradition of reading through old blog posts on New Year's eve. What is done is done. The past is... over. My past has tethered me to the idea that I can't for too long now.

Last year, around this time, I was staying in some friends' apartment over break, and on their refrigerator were those word magnets that you can move around and make sentences out of. On the bottom of the freezer part of the front of the fridge was a sentence I will never forget: we may choose our family. I have never felt much support from either of my parents, especially in relation to my activism. My parents' religious beliefs dictate that I should not have the rights I am fighting so hard for. At this point, I have not seen or spoken to my mother in over a year (for largely unrelated reasons), and my relationship with my father is minimal (for largely related reasons).

The concept that I can surround myself with people who care about me to some extent or another and choose my own support network has been key to my success this year. So to those of you who have been there for me, who have let me bombard into your office to vent or rant, who have held me tight when I needed a hug, who have not been afraid to challenge me when I am wrong: Thank you. You know who you are. It is only with your continued support, mentorship, love, guidance, and faith that I will be able to take the next key steps into not only my activism, but fully living my life. I know that you will be there to help me dust myself off when I fall (because I will).

And to you that read this blog silently without my knowledge, thank you for listening. Sometimes that's all it takes.

[...thus far]

[home]

2009-01-04T19:01:00.003-05:00

I've known for some time that UMBC was home.

Constantly moving, having to leave for holidays, and having to share a bedroom with someone else was not particularly conducive, however, to feeling like I had a home. It has been a strange way to live, not feeling like I truly had a home anywhere. Places that I had called home previous to UMBC now felt like prisons, and UMBC was home only in name, because the spaces where I lived were never truly mine.

This holiday I was asked quite frequently if I would be going home for break. I was even asked via email to "take UMBC home for the holidays," which consisted of taking materials promoting UMBC home and distributing them. Each time I responded simply by saying, "UMBC is home," adding, "I live here." I meant so much more than that though. I didn't just live here. I had nowhere else to go. This was, this is, the only place that feels right.

Walking across campus or simply wandering down to academic row at 3 AM (not even a squirrel in sight, let alone another person) over winter break has allowed me to contemplate UMBC as being my home lately. With no one else around, especially on days like Christmas day when not even sleepless graduate students can be found, the campus has felt much more like mine than it ever has before. I felt similarly over summer, although I didn't have nearly as much 'alone-time' then as I do now.

The real change, however, came last night, as I sat on my bed with my laptop talking to an old friend and a new friend. I had a few candles burning, and the crisp night air was whistling softly through my window screen. But the real mechanism in play here was that I was happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time. It was a simple, uncomplicated, no-strings-attached kind of happy where I knew, for the first time in quite a while, that everything would work out. I was in a good place.

And as I stared out my window, lost in that self-satisfaction for a moment, my eyes wandering over the familiar dumpsters, walker field, and scattered arrangement of parked cars, an intense feeling of warmth came over me as I realized that I truly felt like this was my home.

This is home. Not because it has to be, not because I have nowhere else to go, and not because it is where my possessions are. It is home because of the parts of myself that are invested here. It is home because when I feel hurt I want to come curl up on my bed until it stops hurting. It is home because I can feel safe here. It is home because it is truly mine. The memories contained within these walls belong to me, and the thoughts and memories that I have brought from outside experiences now reside here, lurking in the corners of the room to be addressed at my will. It is home because I can always count on it to be here when I am exhausted or drained or need to be alone.

Several weeks of self-discovery have led me to finally feel as though this space, and my life, are truly mine. I have known it, but I have not felt it until now.

It is an excellent feeling. I move forward having accomplished something great. Tomorrow the university will again be abuzz with its soft hum of life, and I will step out of my room and into its hallways, knowing all the time that this place is truly mine.

[alive]

2009-01-19T18:49:00.004-05:00

"I'm tired!" I cried, frustrated to the edge of my tolerance. Spotting a low ledge nearby, I stubbornly plopped myself down, resolving not to budge until I... stopped being so tired.

Angry, equally-frustrated voices negated this resolution, and I found myself being pulled back to my feet. I saw my brother nearby, cranky and half asleep in my dad's arms. Why did I have to walk when he didn't? It wasn't fair. I wanted someone to carry me too.

My shoulders ached from my backpack straps. My feet ached from trying to make my way through the bustling airport, and I was bored and cranky from a couple of long flights across the globe. Everything was strange and new, but the excitement of being halfway around the world had receded to temper tantrums induced by strange food, clothing mishaps, and sheer exhaustion.

The rest of the trip through the airport is a blur. I remember exiting one part of the airport to a more open part. I feel like it was outdoors, but maybe it was just a different part of the airport. Somehow, maybe because someone told me and I don't remember the words, I knew that the large group of people waiting for us were my family. I felt like collapsing. Nothing mattered except how tired I was.

One of the young men grabbed me and pulled me into his arms. I clung to him, exhausted and trusting. My eyes were shut and my body limp the moment I was against his chest. In the distance, I heard my mother say, "Someone pick her up! She's so tired."

"I am, auntie. I did..." The voice said, and I faded in and out for a few moments.

How we ended up in cars is a blur. Maybe I was awake and maybe I wasn't. But I ended up in a jeep with no top. The back was long and had benches for people to sit on. Several family members were back there with me... if I remember correctly it was pretty packed. I don't remember my mother being there, although I'm not sure how my family managed to get me away from her, now that I think about it. Someone was holding me on their lap. I squirmed. I was suddenly very awake as the warm night air whipped past my face and excited voices chattered around me.

I managed to stand up. Maybe someone was still holding me, but my memory doesn't contain that. We rounded a corner as I stood, and I caught my first glimpse of poverty.

The world slid by in slow motion. A cluster of large cardboard boxes with metal siding for roofs lined the street we were on. Naked children playing in the dirt ignored our precession, but a filthy, bony pregnant woman clinging to a newborn stopped breast feeding to watch us pass. One of the boys, who was older than me, only had one arm.

The air smelled like rain and gasoline.

I felt so alive, for the first time in my life. Somehow, I was connected with these poor people, and with the family I had never met around me. I was not home. Mommy was not here to hold my hand. The world was not a safe, happy place full of stuffed puppies and milk and cookies. My heart broke and mended itself all at the same time, like a muscle tearing and reforming instantly to yield something stronger than before. I was inextricably connected to humanity. The world was mine for the taking.

Someone pulled me back into their arms. Had it been a minute or a second? I don't know. But in my memory it is a peak, defining moment. I had never felt so alive. I had never felt so connected with the world. No moment had ever felt so pure, so unadulterated, so real.

I was five years old.

Every time I smell rain mixed with gasoline, I remember that the world is mine. Sometimes I even go hunt down the smell at 3 AM at the local gas station after a rainstorm just to remind myself.

[god hates]

2009-01-23T16:59:00.005-05:00

I went to the Westboro Baptist Church protest at the federal courthouse in Baltimore City today. I took a bunch of pictures and interviewed several people, as well as participated in fruitless efforts to understand why exactly WBC felt the need to do what they are doing and/or how their brains work.

I thought I was going to write a blog post about the protest. I still have the pictures and probably will at some point, but I think deep inside I knew that a blog post was never the true purpose of me attending that event. I needed to find something.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about love. And not like, the romantic boy-girl kind of love. And not the kind that goes or doesn't go along with sex. Although truthfully, I believe that all of those 'kinds' of love are one and the same. Maybe it's more accurate to say that I'm not thinking about love in those contexts.

Love is so insanely simple. It's so simple that we as humans feel the need to complicate it. We categorize and dichotomize. We label and extrapolate and place social constructions around each 'category' or 'type' of love. We use sex and language to divide and define, and we present love as black or white, existent or non, 1 or 0.

As a society, we often mock those who say "I love you" soon after meeting a person. We perceive that love is serious, complicated, and takes a long time to truly develop. Until this prestigious level of knowing, understanding, and dedication to another person is reached, the developing feelings may not be called love. We create euphemisms like 'care about' and 'like' to allow us to express affection without claiming that what we are feeling is love.

I'm a loving person. I thrive on loving and being loved. I'm not a nice person, maybe. Or at least, I am only selectively nice. I am intense. There have been many people who have passed through my life that I have loved very fiercely who I have never told that I loved them because of the social implications that it would hold. There are many people right now who I still can't say those words to because of the way it would 'complicate' things. But its very existence is simple. The admittance that it exists is what is perceived as complicated.

But I too dichotomize. If I feel unloved in a person or environment, I become very stressed out and close myself off emotionally from those around me. Sometimes I even force an outward impression of emotions just to make up for the absence of sincere ones. I form a dichotomy between "I want to love and be loved here," and "I am a fortress. I will isolate myself to avoid getting hurt."

The protest today was so full of hate. I looked into the eyes of a girl about my age as she spewed out the catchphrases of hatred she had been brainwashed with, and I wondered how one could live so full of hatred and devoid of love. It made me re-examine myself as a person.

At the end of STRiVE everyone in my pod critiqued each other's leadership styles and skills, and one of my pod-mates spoke about what made me lovable, which I had not expected. For me, love has been kept so separate from the activism I have been doing. It has been about human rights and equality, not love.

But what I realized at that protest today is that activism MUST be about love and not hatred. So many of the problems in the queer rights movement stem from hatred. Hatred for straight people, hatred for police, hatred for the government, hatred for 'sexual deviants' that are marginalized within the community, and hatred for anyone who stands in our way as we fight for equal rights.

Is it possible to 'fight' for something out of love, or does the very term 'fight' imply that hatred is involved? I have decided that although I am certainly angry and hurt, my true driving force in life is love.

And in case you are reading this (or you, or you, or you), I just wanted you to know that I love you. But there are no implications behind that statement. I just do. What that means perhaps has yet to be determined.

[all that i've got]

2009-01-27T18:52:00.004-05:00

About two minutes ago, I'm sitting here on my bed recopying my notes from Chemical Engineering Problem Solving and Experimental Design. It's kind of mundane work, the recopying. We're learning some basic linear algebra and using that knowledge to begin to understand how MATLAB works. Since I've been using MATLAB in my research for a whole semester, it's all coming very easily to me. My biggest problem in lab today was actually the fact that I was approaching the problem differently than everyone else, possibly a function of not paying much attention last semester and/or having two days of social science classes. But the actual programming is a snap. Not only is it a snap, but I love doing it and learning more formally why things work the way that they do. The recopying, however... eh. Not particularly necessary, but I'd left my composition book in my room because I hadn't anticipated her lecturing during the lab portion of the class.

So anyway the point is that since the recopying was a bit mundane, my mind was wandering. I was thinking about some of the conversations I had today and some of the classes I was in, and I started thinking about this whole major-change topic. I'm still not sure what I want to do but I have consistently been told that I should think about staying in Chemical Engineering because of the prestige and respect it will grant me after I graduate, even as an activist.

So I'm thinking and thinking about that response. I'm really not crazy about that response, especially since I've gotten it from just about every single person whose opinion I have asked. I think, if anything, the repitition has reinforced that I can not stay in the major for that reason, because every time I hear those words I cringe on the inside, even though the point is perfectly valid.

Then something struck me. Sometimes I do this weird thing where I imagine having conversations with people, but they're never talking. I just imagine the other person as a subject listening to me and I monologue in my head. I never do this on purpose. It just happens spontaneously. Oddly, this often allows me to come up with brilliant realizations, whereas simply thinking about a topic often leaves me completely empty. It's probably also why blogging has been my primary mode of self-discovery since I was 13.

So I'm imagining explaining the situation to Dr. Ross, probably because I'm recopying the notes I took in her class today, and of course she's not talking, but I imagine in this scene of mine she's said the things other people said, and out of nowhere my internal monologue starts off:

I mean, this is my LIFE. I only get to do it once. I can't wonder for the rest of my life.

Suddenly the monologue is over as soon as it began, and I'm back in my head; my mind is reeling. Although I had essentially been saying it for weeks, it had just hit me what those words meant.

This is the only one I get. I will never get to live this moment again.

The realization I've come to is that it has to be about what makes me happy right this second. I can never come back to these moments and live life to the fullest again.

I don't know how these decisions will impact my career. And quite frankly, I don't care, as foolish as that sounds. My mind is still not made up, but only because I'm not truly sure if I will enjoy a full load of social science courses.

So I will continue to listen to advice about my future career and how this major change will impact it, cringing a little on the inside all along the way. This semester is not about figuring out the pros and cons of the impact of this decision on my future career. Once again, this decision will be based on what feels right to me. The decision to live my life that way has yet to steer me wrong.

I only get to live it once.

[paula mccusker for umbc sga vice president for student organizations 2009-2010!]

2009-03-22T19:32:00.004-04:00

Join the Facebook group and remember to VOTE for me! =]

Hey everyone, I'm running for SGA Vice President for Student Organizations for the 2009-2010 school year! This position means a lot to me, and I am passionate about my platform! I'm excited not just about winning your vote, but also about being challenged by you guys on the tenets of my platform and what I can do to improve UMBC.

To start, here are my SGA application responses:

1. What experience and qualifications do you have?
Leading a student organization at UMBC presents many unique challenges. During my first three semesters at UMBC I served as Vice President of Freedom Alliance, planning and organizing many successful events and programs. As a result of this experience, I am very familiar with everyday challenges like fundraising, scheduling, recruiting new members, and requesting money from Finance Board. Over Winter break of this year I joined SGA’s Department of Student Advocacy, which has allowed me to work on projects such as the transcript fee investigation, early spring move-in, gender-neutral housing, investigating the current implementation of the smoking policy, and many other important issues. Joining SGA so recently has also allowed me to gain a very strong understanding of the inner-workings of student government while maintaining a fresh perspective.

2. What is your platform? What do you hope to accomplish if you win?
Imagine if, as an ordinary student, there was one person in SGA who you knew you could approach with any question or concern and receive not only an answer, but a commitment to following through on the issue. As VPSO, I will hire staff with expertise in fundraising, event planning, constitution-writing, and advertising in order to assist student organizations with some of their most challenging functions. I will also actively seek to change policies that make processes like event-planning and allocation requests unnecessarily difficult. Beyond this vital support and advocacy, I have a broader vision to strengthen connections between groups on campus. It is often difficult to reach out to other organizations or uninvolved students. One solution I am currently exploring with the myUMBC team is the possibility of an online collaboration space where all students can post events and ideas freely.

What I really want students to know about me is:
Because I previously held a leadership position in a very active student organization, I am often the one who presents the outsider’s perspective in SGA meetings. I remember what it was like to be highly involved in my ‘section’ of campus without having any idea what SGA or other student organizations were doing. I often notice the problems and injustices that others do not, and I am more than willing to seek out the root of these problems to address them. I hold myself and those around me to high standards. Your elected leaders should be advocating for everyone, not just for those who are just like them. If elected, I will continue to present the perspectives of those who are often underrepresented in SGA. I will bring fresh ideas to my position and question inefficient practices that others will not.

Platform Statements:
* Provide specialized staff to support student organizations in fund-raising, advertising, constitution writing, and event planning.
* Actively investigate policies and practices that hurt or hinder student organizations.
* Promote a unified campus culture by facilitating collaboration of events and ideas between student organizations.

Feel free to comment with questions either here or on the facebook group and I will be sure to respond!