|Posted by Lucille on October 25, 2011 at 4:40 PM||comments (0)|
I went out to lunch with two friends from the sorority. It was really fun, (it turns out I like falafel), and at some point the pokemon exchange came up and they asked what I'd thought. I responded honestly that it had been a lot of fun, and they asked if I'd joined the drinking games. "No, I don't like drinking very much. Which was fine, everyone was nice and there was no pressure or anything, it just didn't feel like there was anything to do instead."
"Yeah. I don't drink either, so I know what you mean." This was the person who'd suggested I go around grabbing people's panties, so I decided to take this with a grain of salt. "What you really need to do is go to one of the co-op parties. Those are a lot of fun and always have more stuff going on. In fact, there's a masquerade party at the Oscar Wilde house tonight. You down to go?"
So I bought a masquerade mask on Telegraph. You can buy literally everything on Telegraph. It was a little expensive for a college student budget, but less than half what they cost in Ashland. And it's beautiful. Pictures soon. I went to the party by myself, but ran into a number of people I knew, and it was amazing. Those queers know how to have fun. There was a balcony where people were chatting, a dark dance room full of people with glow in the dark masks, and a room in the back where people were hanging out or watching over their drunk friends. I got an impromptu flamenco dance lesson. Things ended a little sooner than planned when a girl who hadn't told her friends she was gluten intolerant decided to try beer (don't worry, she's okay,) but all in all it was a pretty fun night.
|Posted by Lucille on October 25, 2011 at 4:35 PM||comments (0)|
An hour later I got an email from my supervisor, inquiring as to why I had not been at work. Oh my god, is it Friday? It's Friday. But I work on Friday. How could I forget that I work on Friday? I looked at my planner, didn't I? I could swear I'd looked at my planner! Yes, it wasn't in there. I just forgot to write it down. After flipping through my planner and writing in every shift for the rest of the year, I sat there feeling awful for a while. It was not quite as bad as the time I forgot that I was supposed to babysit (it only happened once, and I felt absolutely horrible) because this time I was one of four teachers, so none of the kids were uncared for. But still. Not a good feeling. I could tell I would feel better once I'd answered, so I spent a while agonizing over a brief reply, passed the point of no return when I hit send, and felt ever so slightly better. As I said in that email, I will do everything in my power to ensure this never happens again.
|Posted by Lucille on October 25, 2011 at 4:25 PM||comments (0)|
I promised a housemate I'd make cookies for everyone if I passed my chem midterm. The midterm was terrible. There were no questions on any of the things that had been emphasized in class, people were crying, and a couple guys walked out in the middle. So far I only have my short answer score: 9/24. But oh well. Honestly I just wanted an excuse to make cookies.
We got an information sheet for a research project we have to do. My chem partner and I spent the rest of class talking in whispers in the back about what we'd like to do, which so far involves doing something with the gas mask he happens to have on his desk, testing the effectiveness of the hazmat suits he has in his closet, or comparing the efficiency of various explosives. I looked in my planner and noticed that I had a couple hours free after class, so we decided to go back to the house and make cookies. In hazmat suits. Scaring the bejeezus out of everyone that walked by.
|Posted by Lucille on October 25, 2011 at 4:15 PM||comments (0)|
My brother at the pumpkin patch. The sign at the bottom says, "No jumping."
|Posted by Lucille on October 25, 2011 at 4:10 PM||comments (0)|
There were two earthquakes today, 3.9 and 4.0. The first one was centered directly under the infant care center. Meaning, where I work. I wasn't there when it happened and I didn't actually feel it, but my chem partner was in his dorm room on the seventh floor two blocks away and he said things were falling off shelves. I was at an Israeli dance party at Hillel when the second one happened. I must have been airborne because again, I didn't actually feel it. But a lot of people were freaking out. A friend who was in class told me that dust was coming from between the bricks in the wall and they'd evacuated the building. The doomsday guy was waving his sign in front of campus, "Zero days left!" while students and teachers ran past him. I went back to the house to try to sleep, regretting that my room was underground and wondering if I was about to be a part of 'the big one'.
My roommate turned around as I came in. "Can you believe how much people are freaking out? I mean, come on, it was only a 4. It's California. It happens." Sometimes it's nice having a Californian for a roommate.
Woke up safe and sound the next morning, with all the buildings intact. The big one passed us by en route to Turkey. Thoughts and prayers for the people there.
I also learned that next time the doomsday guy gets to zero, I need to go to one of the doomsday parties. The pictures of everyone dressed up like zombies that populated facebook the next morning looked like a lot of fun.
|Posted by Lucille on October 23, 2011 at 2:30 AM||comments (0)|
Today in environmental economics we mathematically proved that Switzerland is capitalist and the US is socialist. It made my day.
|Posted by Lucille on October 23, 2011 at 2:10 AM||comments (0)|
1. Berkeley time. Everything at Berkeley starts ten minutes late, so that you can take classes back to back. I love it. It's like the perfect combination of Gambian Maybe Time and American Real Time--everything is later than you'd think, but by a precise and predictable amount. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get across campus in ten minutes!
2. Doomsday guy. He stands in front of Sproul Plaza with a sign that says how many days are left and hands out fliers denouncing the homosexual agenda. I wore rainbow socks one day and he told me I have no savior. My chemistry buddy walked by him in a lab coat and he told him all Bachelor of Science students were going to burn in hell when the rapture came. As you can tell he's a pretty cheerful guy, but he's a little too obviously out of it (if there aren't students around, he'll continue talking to himself and offering fliers to the air) for anyone to try to reason with him, and he's such a conspicuous figure on campus, there at the front of the school, every morning with the same speech and his little papers, that there's almost a measure of affection for him.
3. The maps. Up is not north. Nor does it say, on these maps, that up is not north. I think they made up east for the map at the western entrance, and then when they added more maps they thought it would confuse people to change it, so now east is up no matter where you go. I figured this out when I first got here and then got to help freshmen and parents who were lost. It was kind of fun.
4. Dwinelle. There is a building called Dwinelle, nicknamed the freshman maze, because they cruelly hold all the workshops there in welcome week. Two brothers wanted to build a building and they decided to each build half, but they didn't talk to each other at all and so the building makes no sense, the floor levels didn't even match up, and don't get me started on the numbering. Maze indeed.
5. Sharing. I had assumed, given that everyone in college is short on cash, that people would be very careful with their food and possessions. Instead, the shared poverty makes it a free for all. Everyone shares their food generously and accepts with the same freedom. It's all communal. I kind of like it.
|Posted by Lucille on October 23, 2011 at 2:00 AM||comments (0)|
Now that I've shared the bit about them cleaning out the uterus after birth, I think it's only fair to tell you the justification for it. One of the nurses explained to me that it's to make absolutely sure the bleeding from where the placenta was has stopped. I guess if there's other blood coming out it's harder to tell. In the US, if a woman starts bleeding too much after a few days, she just drives back to the hospital. There, the woman could be in the middle of nowhere by that time and would simply die. The idea is that a few minutes of excruciating pain are worth ruling out future hemorrhage. I still felt that it could have been done A LOT more gently. They felt that if it's going to hurt anyway, you might as well go fast and get it over with. It doesn't change my view of it, but I thought I should let you know that it was well intentioned.
|Posted by Lucille on October 20, 2011 at 1:45 AM||comments (0)|
This post is going to be a little disjointed, but bear with me.
The definition of rape includes penetration by things besides a penis, such as fingers or objects, if it's without the victim's consent. I hadn't known that before. By this definition, my encounter on the beach counts as attempted rape. It still scares me how close it was. And there were times at the hospital when I watched ten or twelve rapes a day, with some births in between, for a week straight.
It's hard for me to talk about the dark side of Africa. I hate that America views it as a hellhole, and I don't want to contribute to that impression. Africa has a full spectrum with a good amount of both extremes. As awful as some of the things that I saw were, there were things that were that beautiful. That kind of beauty is almost impossible to capture with words, and in our sheltered world is almost unimaginable, so it's hard to share. Besides, when you say things like, "I watched ten rapes a day," people tend to go running.
I LOVED going to Africa. I absolutely want to go again (just, you know, not right now). I wanted to take a journey into the unknown, and I succeeded. I came back with memories bordering on magical that I will treasure, and memories of equivalent darkness. Although I've done a lot of writing about it, I still feel like I'm having trouble making sense of it all. Almost as soon as I got back I threw my bags in the car and left my friends, my boyfriend, and my family, moved to an entirely new city, scrambled to get myself enrolled in classes, and figure out how things work here, then had a major health crisis, and am just now getting back on my feet and feeling like I might someday gain control of this, like this strange reality could eventually become familiar. I finally have two seconds to breathe.
And when that happened, I suddenly couldn't stop thinking about Africa. I miss the people. I keep dreaming about the rainforests, the sunsets, and the color of the sandy roads at dusk as the bats start flying overhead. I can't help buying mango juice, looking for that taste of mangoes fresh from the forest. And in my dreams I keep standing by women's beds while they squeeze my hand and scream. For the sake of breaking down this slew of emotions into things I can deal with, these are the memories from the maternity ward that haunt me. You know about fundal pressure, so I won't describe it. I held starving infants that rooted desperately against my chest looking for food and finally became unresponsive. I never actually had one die in my arms, but I held them long enough that I knew they were going to. And then, there was one more that even after everything I'd seen I could never bring myself to write about. During pregnancy a lot of extra padding builds up in the uterus to protect the baby. In the US, women are given some extra bulky pads and let that come out gradually over the next few weeks, like an extra long and heavy period. There, they removed that tissue manually. They would reach inside up to their mid forearm and scrape out her uterus like a jar of mayonnaise. Obviously it was excruciatingly painful. I always tried to leave the room, but there were times I couldn't, when the mothers gripped my hand while they tried to hold back their inevitable screams and I tried not to vomit all over the floor. Did your stomach just turn over? Imagine the intensity of being there first hand, and now imagine beauty of that same intensity. They really were in balance.
But unlike in chemistry, positives and negatives don't cancel out, they just both exist. I want to give myself permission to take the time to heal from this. It's a good kind of healing, healing that will leave me stronger, or at least wiser, I hope, but it's healing all the same and it's going to take time. I am in the unknown here. How will this change my life? How does it fit into my identity? I want to let the things I experienced affect me, even though I'm scared of that journey.
I've gotten back in touch with some friends I hadn't talked to in a few years, and it's making me realize just how much and how rapidly I've changed, just in the last few months. I was always the math and science girl. I got into a magnet school in sixth grade, taught myself advanced calculus in a month in high school, and aced a physics exam that started, "Using the data in the following table, please calculate the age of the universe." Okay, except for the writing fiction thing. And choir. And drama. Fine, a lot of things interest me. But the left brain, analytical side always won out. And now, just within the last few months, I've found myself clear on the other side of the spectrum, further into the right brain hippie side of things than I've ever been before. I'm trying to be a midwife, for Pete's sake. What happened to theoretical physicist? I signed up for yoga instead of martial arts. I joined a queer sorority, went to a doula workshop, and now hold babies and attend pagan circles in my spare time. (?!) To some extent, in the choices that led me to these things, I felt like I was flying blind. I knew that a doula workshop interested me more than a lab internship, but I couldn't have told you why, and there was so much going on that I didn't think about it that much.
Now I have a theory. I think that I had to surround myself with that healing feminine energy to help myself recover. There's only a certain extent to which you can rationalize experiences like this, and even then, the emotion will remain. In ways I couldn't have planned out, this crazy right brain spree of mine has led me to experiences that addressed what I've been through from the other side. I wouldn't have imagined the serenity that came from sweating my heart out in yoga, and re-centering around breath from breathing with a partner in a doula workshop. There, I was surrounded by a powerfully loving and nurturing community, in an environment where I could talk about my experiences comfortably, without fear of scaring them off. I saw women being lovingly supported through labor, and even saw fundal pressure and C-sections carried out with that same level of gentleness and care. Analytically, it doesn't change anything. There are still women being horribly mistreated all over the world. But emotionally, it makes all the difference.
This morning, I held warm healthy babies, and watched them drink until milk ran over their smiling lips, and they gave a soft sigh of complete contentment, curled up against my chest, and fell asleep. I went to class feeling whole.
An interesting aspect of this is that, if it is a response to Africa and the many many transitions going on in my life, I have no idea if it's permanent. Who knows, maybe I'll end up a theoretical physicist after all.
I had no idea that recovering from Africa would lead me on so many additional adventures.
|Posted by Lucille on October 20, 2011 at 1:20 AM||comments (0)|
Word went round that a guy on one of my friend's floors who was pledging a fraternity forgot to bring his pin to a meeting. He was told that in order to regain his honor and maintain his eligibility for the fraternity, he had to have sex with this girl who was there. (By all accounts I've heard, she was sober and did not object.) He was thoroughly drunk, and led her up to his room looking ashamed and embarrassed. They came out a while later and gossip ensued. This is the same fraternity that led to 'you cannot tell pledges to have sex with a goat' being included in our risk management handbook.
The story came up when we were talking about hazing, and a couple people said things like, "Ew, that's so gross." "What an idiot, I can't believe he did that." "He shouldn't let himself be controlled like that. Everyone knew what happened, he totally embarrassed himself."
I know this is not rape in the traditional sense, but there were some pretty eerie similarities. He was threatened with punishment if he did not agree to an unwanted sexual act. That's considered coercion. Even if that wasn't the case, people who are intoxicated are not legally able to give consent. Men who have sex with intoxicated women are accused of rape all the time. It seems odd that the opposite would be considered a different story.
What if this was considered rape or sexual assault? It came up in conversation in a group of educated women who are very aware of sexual violence issues, and what did we do? Blame the victim.