The Namesake

I finished The Namesake: Lahiri. I thoroughly enjoyed this book: it was powerful in a way I was not suspecting, and thrilling in a way that seems impossible after you've read the back.

The book is about an Indian man and woman who get married and move to Boston. It details the struggle that each of them face being away from their families, and more so, living in a world that is unfamiliar to them.

She has a baby. This moment is so magical in the book. For the first time in my life I understand how important family will be during this time in a woman's life. I also saw a glimpse of what it means to loose yourself to gain a new self. All in Lahiri's pages are details of this experience, of how one woman copes and, sometimes, does not cope.

As the eldest kid grows up in an Indian family surrounded by other Indian families, he is faced feeling deeply disconnected after going to school and entertaining American life. Eventually the young boy changes his name-- a moment in the book that is too powerful to write about and too deeply emotional to highlight.

The book has many marvelous themes. Any reader can relate to Lahiri's words because we've all felt alone, different, disconnected, or insecure. I had a hard time putting the book down, and when I was done reading I was left wanting to hear more from Lahiri. She is a brilliant wordsmith and I'm glad that I've been introduced to her work.

Read this book. Next stop, see the movie. (I've heard that it's not nearly as good as the book).

Other People's Writing

Being on an airplane at least twice a week lends me some nice, solid reading-time. It seems that every time I'm at the airport I purchase a new book.

Dry: Augusten Burroughs
I really enjoyed this book. If you've read anything by Burroughs, you have to expect to go through a certain roller coaster of emotions. First you laugh and then you cry, but usually you're just shocked. I read Running With Scissors and Possible Side Effects, so I read this book as an expert.

Burroughs always shocks me-- not just because he tells me amazing stories, but also because he has basically no formal education and writes much smarter than me. I found Dry to be particularly moving because fighting addiction is terribly difficult. Burroughs is a sincere writer and Dry was a surprisingly fresh look at addiction.

If you haven't read any Burroughs, I recommend picking up any of his work immediately.


Magical Thinking: Burroughs
So what? I read two Burroughs books in one month. There is something about his voice that makes me feel connected. This book made me laugh so loudly that fellow passengers gave me dirty looks. Magical Thinking, eh? I can relate to that. Or, maybe I wish I could relate to that. Who knows.


A Man Without a Country: Vonnegut
Well, he's dead. I picked up this book surprised that I didn't buy it earlier. Vonnegut will always have a special place in my heart. He taught me that I like to read. He taught me that ice can be scary. He taught me that chapters are allowed to be short and paragraphs don't have to have three sentences.

I really enjoyed this book. It's pretty close to a memoir, and if you're a fan of Vonnegut, this is a nice commute book. Pick it up and bring it on your next subway ride. While the guy next to you is listening to his music too loudly, you can giggle loudly with Vonnegut instead of shooting that guy looks that could kill.

I finished this book on one quick plane ride. I didn't get off the plane until it was practically unloaded and I was in the third row. I had to finish it before I could get up. He's always been that writer for me.


The Namesake: Lahiri
Holy shit! I'm not even done with this book and I know that it will change me forever. I'm at the half-way point and I've cried three times. In all actuality, I have no idea why I cried. Lahiri writes like a goddess and moves me to the core. I feel at home with Lahiri's words. Buy this book immediately.


Diary: Palahniuk
Palahniuk is a unique writer. Each of his books are bizarre in their own right. Diary is no different than the others. This book is as brilliant as it is frightening. If you haven't read any Palahniuk, I wouldn't start with Diary. If you have read some Palahniuk and enjoyed his bizarre stories, this one rates well. Pick it up.


Dune: Herbert
You'd think that a nerd like me would have read this book long ago. I started reading Dune about six months ago. Theo bought me a used paperback and within a few weeks the spine broke. I have read all but the last 75 pages, which is many, many pages. I've heard many people name this book as a favorite and I can understand why. It starts out miserably slow, but by the middle of the book it all makes sense. Reading this book reminds me of how I felt reading The Lighthouse: Woolf. "It's too slow to enjoy.... It's incredible." The switch isn't immediate, but when you realize it's beauty, you forgive and understand the slow start.


I've been reading. In between books I watch many movies. I want to talk about some of them here, but you have to give me some time. When I've read too many books to talk about any of them in full, I'll do a book post again.

Any questions?

I want to be a writer.

I've been itching to write again, but the more I read the more I think I don't have anything to say. There's been so many things already said by writers who are much more elequont than me. My writing style is not unique and I do not have a voice of my own.

I've sat down with a blank screen and a blank piece of paper a few times now: each time I've just stared. It's amazing how small and insignificant I feel everytime I get an urge to just write. I feel like everything inside is stuck and there is no way to get it out on paper.

What's weird is that every time I'm in a writing phase, it has something to do with love or pain. When I'm not there I hear Rilke telling me to stay away from the subject of love. I wonder why I don't hear him when I'm in that stage. Perhaps because it's my vice, my addiction. It's been awhile though. The last time I was able to write more than one poem in a sitting was more than two years ago. I used to write because I had to: there was no way around it. I was blogging and poeming everyday. Those were not particularly good times.

And, so, when I say that I want to start writing again, I scare myself. I don't want to write because I'm depressed, and I don't want to be depressed to write. I've been in both places, and I strongly believe that real work is beyond that stuff. The real work comes many years later, after the pain, and it isn't because you have a wound, but maybe because you have a scar, or even a memory. And, in the end, the work shouldn't really be about the memory. The work really should just use those things to say substantial things, ever-lasting things.

I guess I'm not there yet because I still don't know what I want to say. I just know that I need to say something real. I want to be moved when I write it and I want the reader to be moved to read it. I want to grow up, but I'm better off letting it happen to me.

I'm sure that you feel the same way. Thanks for the ear.

"Hello, my name is Kimberly and I'm a workaholic."

I have the great pleasure to be in an airport at least once a week. This week I have been to four different airports (and today is Wednesday). Without fail, one thought enters my mind every time I am in one of these god-awful places, "Who designed these restroom doors?!"

The handicap stall is always equipped with a door that opens toward the restroom-goer. This is the same in nearly every restroom I have ever seen. It makes perfect sense: in order to fit a wheel chair, the door must open in this manner. This same logic is not used for carry-on luggage. Every other stall in the restroom has a door that opens toward the toilet. This brilliant concept annoys me every time I think about going to the restroom at the airport. When I walk into the stall with my wheeled, carry-on luggage, I have to stand next to the toilet (with the fear of touching the toilet before using a toilet seat cover) and roll my luggage inside where it always has to touch the toilet for the door to close. The same problem arises when I leave the stall.

If the designers have the common sense to design the handicap stalls with logic, why did they fail so horribly with the rest of the stalls?! And, of course, I've never mentioned this bit of annoyance with anyone before now. I bet every female who travels for work thinks about this same shit. I bet flight attendants hate it. Oh man, tomorrow when I'm at the airport, I'm going to say something to the person next to me at the sink. I am excited!

Another annoying tid-bit of traveling is that you become accustom to delays, rude people, dumb policies, and rushing around. With that in mind, it kills me that Car Rental Companies do not always tell their customers where the nearest gas station is located. Every time I'm on my way back to the airport I have to search for gas for about 10-30 minutes. What horrible customer service!


I'm sure that you have no idea what I'm talking about. You probably think I'm crazy for thinking about these things. You're wrong. I'm crazy for traveling as much as I do. And, worse, I'm crazy for not having "Elite Status" with all Airlines. I bet they have special restrooms that have doors that open toward to restroom-goer and they laugh at all the people who have to use the "normal" restrooms. Those asshats.

I need a vacation.

Updates

I've been thinking about posting lately. Thinking about it.

Work has kept me pretty busy. The down-time is over, and I'm working long hours again. I'm happy, despite it all. The job has suddenly become challenging, as I've been learning new things and taking on new responsibilities. I recently discovered that managing a Department while living 3000 miles away from the Office is difficult. I'm ready for the move.

We've decided to push back the move date to April 1st due to several circumstances. The original plan, to live with Adam and Jackson, is starting to fall through. It seems that Theo and I will end up getting a place with just Jackson. I am sad that Adam and I will not have this opportunity to live together, but I do think that he is doing what's best for himself and I'm proud of him.

I have two audits in Las Vegas next week and Theo is joining me. Luckily it will be right after payday, so I'm going to do some gambling. Hopefully I'll win.

Recently Theo and I took a trip to the San Francisco area so that he could see his family. I got medical problems our first night there, but I'm OK now. I had a difficult time there, as I felt pretty damn uncomfortable for most of the visit. I'm glad I went.

Tonight we are making sushi and drinking sake. Fun!

Happy Valentines Day, friends and family! :)

I promise, I'm going to post a few entries about books I've read, movies I've seen, and television I don't watch. They are all waiting to be written.

Onward!

So, I'm officially moving back to New York. The tentative move date is March 1st, but I will have specifics soon enough. Theo is making the move with me, and I'm really excited about that! In the meantime, I'm going to be very busy with work, packing, fixing the apartment, and making plans.

The last apartment I had in New York was infested with bed bugs. It was a one bedroom apartment in Port Washington. A doctor and his wife owned the house, and rented out both the upstairs and downstairs. After one night in that apartment, we called the wife with a complaint about bugs. She sent an exterminator, but the problem persisted. After several visits, many phone calls, and sleepless nights, we found out that the entire house (both floors) had bed bugs.

I'm sure that I can't think of a worse thing for a couple to deal with in regard to their first apartment together. Sometimes I think that this situation was the tip of the iceberg, but I stayed around for awhile longer. In the end, I lost quite a bit of my belongings, and (for awhile) the respect of my parents.

The couple who owned the house weren't phased. They put the place up for rent immediately after we left. We always talked about catching some of the bed bugs and letting them loose in the house they actually lived in. That never happened. Right? I threatened to write the papers, but I never did. My roommate signed an agreement that we would not take further action after he received the rent money back. He didn't receive money to get our belongings cleaned. He didn't receive money for anything but the rent.

Soon thereafter I moved to California where bed bugs are the least of my concern. I still get itchy in hotel beds, wondering if I'm going to take bed bugs home with me, but so far, I'm bed-bug-free! The upcoming move has me thinking about bed bugs again, but I will thoroughly inspect the new apartment before we move in... I hope.

Making It Work

As long as I can remember forgiving people for their wrong-doings has been an issue for me. The question being: how do you forgive someone who does not seek forgiveness? It all started in High School where I determined that it didn't matter. I decided that you must always forgive, but you're never forced to forget. Silly.

By 2001 I was living in Gainesville, FL and was heavily involved in a campus church called GCL (Gator Christian Life), which was part of GCM (Great Commission Ministries). Through reading the Bible, and constantly contemplating on this idea of forgiveness, I came to new conclusions. The Bible tells us that Jesus forgives everyone, that he died for every one's sins. The catch is that you have to accept his forgiveness in order to make it real; you must know that you need forgiving in the first place. I took this idea and ran with it.

Now, no longer calling myself a Christian, I still relate to this New Testament idea of forgiveness. On a philosophical note, it makes complete sense to me. How can you truly forgive someone unless they accept a) that they need forgiving, and b) that you are willing to forgive? If this doesn't happen, it lends to the theory that their act was not a wrong-doing, or worse, that they can not change.

In the end, I believe that when you love someone, it doesn't matter who is "right" and "wrong" when it comes to disagreements. I believe that what matters the most is dealing with our actions and those consequences. Despite how irrational the hurts may be, it's important to always relate to the idea that you've hurt someone. It's important to seek forgiveness there, and to comfort and heal the wounds that you have made. Then, after you've come clean ("I hurt you and I'm sorry"), it's important to talk about what happened. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding, perhaps you believe your actions are justified but they hurt the person you love, or perhaps you don't believe your actions are justified and they hurt the person you love. In any event, I think there is an underlying question: what matters more, my ego or their heart? I believe, through love, we're strong enough to fix things as long as we talk about them as they come along.

But, as it turns out, lately I've been struggling pretty violently to forgive people. I keep hoping that it'll just happen. I've dug pretty deep, and still, it hasn't happened. I've meditated a few times. (Perhaps I should meditate more.)

The thing is- these people don't seek forgiveness. Or, worse, they seek forgiveness but keep repeating the crime. At some point it becomes a virtue I don't have, and the "not forgetting" part becomes too much of the equation. I just don't believe that I can honestly say to myself "I forgave". I truly believe that one must accept it before anything can change, before I can begin to speak about it the past tense. I guess I should be happy that it's waiting and know that I've done my part.

It's funny how we can develop these well thought out theories on how love and friendship ought to work, but when it comes down to it, we're never a working part of that theory.
Perhaps I should go back to reevaluate forgiveness. It's been a few years.