Pane

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      Let me tell you a little something about my bedroom window.
      Compared to the grandiose windows I had at both college and home, my City of Angeles bedroom window pales in comparison. It doesn't quite measure up, if you catch my drift. And outside this window is a view unlike any other. Apparently it is a big deal around here, but having looked out of this window for a week and a half now, I have come up with a few opinions of my own.
      My bedroom window looks over a golf course. Now, I will not tell you which course (in case any of you fine readers just so happen to double as creepy stalkers), but know that it is a fully-functional, all day/every day course. Every morning, I wake up earlier than I would like since I have yet to invest in curtains, and I take a look outside of my window. And every single day, no matter what time of day, I see the exact same thing. Golfers.
      There is a hole closest to my view of the course, and without fail, I see men in a myriad of polo shirts and crew cut socks making their way to this hole, standing around the hole, and moving past it towards the next. It matters not whether the time be seven in the morning or seven in the evening--- the golfers never fail to show up. It is a wonder to me, really, that there are always players out there. Weekday? Yes. Weekend? Obviously. Who knew so many golf enthusiasts lived around this area?
      Do not judge me, I beg of you. I have absolutely nothing against golf/golfers/golf courses. Hell Heck, I cheered on Bubba Watson during his acceptances of the Master's green jacket. I choked up in sentimentality as he shed tears in gratitude and awe. I have even become a recent fan of Rory McIlroy (although who wouldn't think the Irish athlete isn't a dream?). But in my years of watching Dad watch golf, I have learned a few things. First, don't watch if you are tired. The soothing claps and monotonous headlining is sure to put even the most enthused fan to snores. Second, the bad players get no air time. No explanation needed.
      So you are probably wondering how I dare to criticize my golf course view in Los Angeles. Well, it is simple. There is no change in the view. And there probably will not be for most of the year. Every time I look out the window it is the same scene. There are always golfers. Always clubs and carts. And since I highly doubt that they will be closing eventually for a deep winter chill, I have a feeling that I will be seeing the same merry-go-round movie for quite some time. I know I have no room to complain, but sometimes it just feels so monotonous. And I know that the palm trees won't change color come fall, and the three-year drought will have no dire effect on the greenness of the grass. But I wonder, will the golfers keep coming? Or will there come a day when everyone has gorged themselves enough on the sport and retire their clubs for a time?
      I guess I will just have to keep looking out my windowpane every day to get my answer.

                                                                             Sincerely,
                                                                                        Me

New Life

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      I have lived in Los Angeles, California for six days now. SIX. I basically have my room all set up and cozy; although, it is a bit erratic. Lot's of color. Lot's of pictures. Lot's of shoes/clothes. Basically, lot's of me.
      Today marks one week until classes start, and one week until my new life as a graduate student begins. It is remarkable to me how I can go from being a student to a student, and yet it feels so different this time around. Sure, the terms "undergraduate" and "graduate" make a big difference, but there is something about the general vibe this time that feels different. There is a shift in responsibility, independence, work load, and dedication. I am making a most intentional choice to pursue my love of English Literature. It's more that choosing a major--- it's choosing a life for myself.
      And it is more than just school. Now, being in California, I am forced to start fresh. New city, new people, new routine. Remember in THIS POST when I quoted The Grapes of Wrath at the end? Well, here is a little secret---- I hadn't actually read The Grapes of Wrath when I used the quote. Shameful, really, but I promise that since then I have read, finished, and thoroughly enjoyed reading that book. But let me clarify a few things...

1.)  The entire story is about the great migration of mid-west families and individuals to the "promised land" of California. I myself just made the great migration to California via car. I packed little blue all the way to the brim (and then some) and drove across the county in the ultimate road trip.
2.) The featured family, the Joads, believed that California would provide them with a chance to start over. A chance to finally have a nice house, a steady job. They dreamed and discussed the multifaceted possibilities which California would bring them. I dreamed a dream of the Californian possibilities myself.
3.) California proved a disappointment. I won't say much more on their end, for I hate to ruin an ending, but just know...I desperately wish that my similarity to the Joad family does meet the same end as theirs.
                 ***  I DID love this book though. I encourage everyone to read it. Granted, my love for it might not have been as exuberant if I had read it at any point in my life other than right before moving to California, but nonetheless, I think Steinbeck's writing is beautiful and the imagery is unsurpassable ***

     This blog post probably seems a bit all over the place, and it probably is. But I guess it is a good reflection of how life is now for me. A little all over the place. I am finally getting settled, and soon enough I will be even closer to being a Master of English. How snobby does that sound? But in all seriousness, I hope more than anything that this new life does not create a new me. I am rather fond of me, and wouldn't want to lose myself in the Hollywood Hills.

                                                                  Sincerely,
                                                                            Me