One of the fun parts of having studied seven languages is that I look for patterns within the languages I’ve learned. I am always fascinated when I come across an unusual phrase like, “It’s raining cats and dogs.” But I am even more fascinated when I see similarities in languages that don’t seem to have any apparent connection. I would have never guessed that Japanese grammar would turn out to be similar to Turkish grammar.
A few months ago, I noticed that the way we introduce ourselves differs from language to language. Here’s a sample using the languages I can speak:
Turkish: Benim adim Karen.
Literal Translation: My name Karen. (In Turkish, the “is” is implied in this type of sentence. The most correct way to say the above sentence would be “Benim adim Karendir.” the “dir” representing the “is” verb, but it is never really used.)
French: Je m’appelle Karen.
Literal Translation: I call myself Karen.
Italian: Mi chiamo Karen.
Literal Translation: I call myself Karen.
German: Mein name ist Karen.
Literal Translation: My name is Karen. (Though I must admit I don’t know if that’s the common introduction in German since I haven’t spoken it in years.)
Japanese: Watashi no namae wa Karen desu.
Literal Translation: My name Karen is. (When I was there, this was one of the ways people introduced themselves. I’m sure it’s not the colloquial way, tho.)
And in Sign Language one would say “My name Karen.” What’s interesting to me is that while the way we introduce ourselves is quite similar in languages that don’t appear correlated like Japanese, German, and Turkish, the romance languages seem to have a different method for the same, simple task. I wonder how this evolved and why the discrepancy? I also wonder if there are other ways in different languages that I don’t speak or if these, “my name is…” and “I call myself….,” are the only two variations on formal introductions.
If you speak languages I don’t, please feel free to share and let’s see if there are other forms.
I’ve been thinking a lot about personal sites lately. Journals, photo journals, and blogs.
There are certain pages I’ve been reading for over three years and cases where when I discovered a site I liked, I’ve read archives that go back multiple years. Over the course of all this reading, I’ve stitched together bits and pieces of information and formed an image of this person I never met and might never meet.
The interesting, and a bit scary, part is that I have an emotional attachment to these people I never met. I feel like since they give me a sneak peek into their thoughts, their lives, their days, I form some sort of a connection with them. It’s a commitment to check someone’s page daily and read all about it even though you don’t even know the sound of this person’s voice.
Most personal pages are one-sided conversations, even the ones that allow you to comment. The comments open up the page to a bit of a community feature and allow you to tell the writer your opinions on a subject matter that’s being explored or a sentiment that was expressed. However, most of the time, the site owner doesn’t then end up having two-way conversations about the issue. The comment posters leave their two cents and the comments become a collection of other people’s opinions on the same subject. I don’t mean to imply that it’s not interesting or valuable to read other people’s comments on an issue I find interesting. I am always thrilled when I see a comment on my site and eager to read the reader’s opinion, thoughts, or feelings. I am trying to point out that comments feature doesn’t necessarily bring you closer to knowing the person behind the web site.
The drawback of consistently reading a web site is that I genuinely feel like I know the person who’s writing those words. I feel like I relate to him. I feel like I can read her thoughts. The fact is I don’t and I can’t. The person who posts is picking and choosing his or her posts. Many days , the person is choosing not to post. When reading a personal side, I get to see only one side of the poster: the side he or she chooses to show.
I think that’s why it feels like such a let down when a person decides to take a break and not post. Suddenly, the door that I had to this person’s life is shut and I am faced with the reality that I don’t know the poster at all. I don’t mean anything to this person. They have real friends. Real people with whom they spend their time.
I always get disappointed when I send an email to someone whose site inspired me or with whom I wanted to share something that I thought he or she might like and I don’t hear back from the person. It’s not because I feel I have a certain right or that my email was really important. It’s mostly because these people put stuff up on the web and want people to read it. And then when people read it and want to share back, I feel it’s rude to ignore them. Those are the people for whom you’re writing. Honestly, if you’re just writing for your five friends, there’s no reason to put it up on the web, and there are few cases where people just want a site for their circle of friends and don’t care if anyone else reads it or not. Most people, however, prefer to have readership.
It’s like a writer who publishes a book but doesn’t ever want to receive letters from his readers. Remember when you were young and someone inspired you? Imagine if you actually had the guts to write to that person? How many days did you stand by the mailbox, hoping they wrote back to you? How many days till you became bitter and cynical?
We all have people we admire for a plethora of reasons. We all, sometimes, feel the need to make a connection. I think the least a person could do is acknowledge that need and thank the person for finding something in him or her to be inspired about. (yes, I am ending with a preposition, so there.) You never know, the few words you write back thoughtlessly, might make that person’s day.
Ps: For those of you wondering, no this isn’t an angry response to a recent occurrence. It’s just my way of hoping we can make the world a little bit less cynical, one day at a time.
When Jake and I drove across the country this summer, we covered every state to the west of Oklahoma, except California. We had a list of locations in the state that we wanted to make sure to cover. Jake said that maybe we should do those another time since we were now officially living in California and would have time to see it. Well, it’s been six months and we’ve only visited one of those locations: Joshua Tree National Park. Our list still includes: Death Valley, Yosemite National Park, Sequoia National Park, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, and driving the Pacific Coast Highway.
A month ago, we thought of going to a State Park by Santa Barbara but the drive was about 8 hours to this remote island and we figured a weekend wasn’t enough. I don’t get three-day-weekends at my job so I got worried that it was a bad idea to put off the California section of our trip.
I was reading a few fray stories and this one made me think of the time I had had enough:
***
I took the job because I believed in its message.
I quit my high-paying part-time management job to become a 5th grade teacher. I spent hours working on the application, stayed up nights to prepare for the interview. I had found my life’s purpose; I wanted to Teach For America. I didn’t listen to anyone’s words of caution. My mom thought I was too educated to teach elementary school, which offended me then and offends me now. My friends thought I was insane to leave the cushy, ladder-climbing job where I had put in 120-hour weeks to achieve my current success. I didn’t listen to anyone.
My enthusiasm increased all through the summer. Despite the fact that I had to spend five weeks in a dormitory, away from my husband immediately after we came back from our honeymoon. Despite the fact that we woke up at 6am and went to bed at 2am. Despite the fact that the kids never listened to a word we taught. The first night of the Institute, the summer training program, I called my husband after watching the previous year’s training video. “I don’t understand why everybody in the world doesn’t want to do this,” I said and I believed every word of it.
Things started going wrong before the first week of school ended. My third-grade appointment was switched to fifth-grade two days before we expected students to arrive. My room was changed three times. On the first day of school, the principal came to introduce herself to the students and said, “Ms. Grunberg was scared to teach fifth grade, but I told her she would to fine, right?” The class nodded enthusiastically.
I put my training to use immediately. I made rules. Consequences. I gave an exam on the rules. I was strict. I was mean. I didn’t ask for approval. I prepared ten-page lesson plans. I created my posters. I memorized my student’s names. I made sure my lesson plans covered all the modalities. I spent every waking moment outside the classroom working to make myself a better teacher: grading, planning, calling parents. I was all that a first year teacher was supposed to be. Or so I thought.
read more.
Here’s a great reason why I love my Mac as much as I do:
I am doing a bunch of data conversion from one MySQL database into another. I execute a long query, copy the results and paste it into an excel window. I go back to execute another query and accidentally paste when I don’t mean to. Since I had the long results of the previous query in the clipboard, my Terminal gets confused and I am greeted with the spinning ball that means nothing other than bad news. I sit there and patiently wait for the ball to stop because force quitting Terminal (which is running several other crucial processes in different windows) is not an option.
After a few seconds, as my panic level increases, I remember that I installed another terminal application a month ago. I start up iTerm, execute a “ps -auxwww | grep mysql” and find the hung window. I “kill -9” the process and my spinning ball goes bye-bye. The Mac dumps the clipboard contents into the shell window and complains about commands that make no sense but my machine is back, my terminals are still running their processes happily and I lost nothing. Not even a tiny bit of work.
How can you not love a machine that lets you save your own ass?
Last week, I asked Jake to explain the caucus system to me. He explained the gist of it and told me that he didn’t know the details of how it worked. The one thing he did mention is that once the delegates get into the groups for each candidate and the candidate gets too low a turnout, that group gets dismantled and everyone gets to go to their second choice, and so on. This idea was quite appealing to me so I read up on the process a bit and it works quite similar to the way Jake explained it.
In actuality, the Republican and the Democratic caucuses are different according to the DeMoines Register. The Republicans get to vote one time for one candidate. This makes me sad since the most appealing part of the caucus, to me, is that particular trait. The interesting part of the Democratic caucus is that let’s say you’re rooting for a candidate you really like but isn’t realistically going to win, which we have many of this year, you get to stand in his crowd (since Carol Moseley Braun dropped out, they are all men now) and be heard. Then, since he didn’t get enough votes, you get to go stand in your second favorite candidate’s crowd as well. This means you may get to exercise your right to vote several times, depending on the candidate you chose.
I like the idea of going down your list of choices; it represents a clearer picture of the voters’ preferences. Let’s say there are 3 people running for president in a year when the outgoing president has already served for eight years and can’t get reelected, like it was the case in 2000. (I know there were more than 3 candidates in 2000 but I am trying to simplify for my example’s sake.) Let’s say you like the ideals of Candidate A and you vote for him. About 10% of the voters agree with you so they do the same. This is a substantial number for Candidate A and it may encourage him or her to rerun in a few years. However, it’s not enough to win this election and it’s below 15% so the people who voted for Candidate A, including you, have to now choose another group to join. Let’s say when Candidate A got 10%, Candidate B and Candidate C had received 49% and 41%, respectively. If Candidate A’s crowd didn’t get to revote, Candidate B would be the declared winner. This is the way today’s presidential elections, the Republican caucus, and the primaries work (in my simple understanding), you get to vote once and the candidate with the most votes wins. (Yes, I am aware of the Electoral College and how it all works, but imagine this on a state by state level.)
Now let’s imagine the entire 10% of Candidate A’s crowd decides to vote for Candidate C after their crowd has to disperse. This time, Candidate C is the winner. The results have changed drastically.
The question is which result represents the voters’ preferences better? I prefer the caucus way because I might like Candidate A better than the other two but if he’s no longer an option, I’d much rather have Candidate C in office over Candidate B. If the name of the game is to represent the voters’ preferences, doesn’t the caucus system do that more accurately?
In 1999, I bought a small fighting fish to accompany me at work. The little blue fish would sit in his cage and I would sit in mine and we’d go about doing out business of the day. Every now and then I would tap his tank, which is too big of a word for the tiny cup he lived in, and he would attack my pen like his life depended on it. He never quite reached my pen; he couldn’t figure out that there was a plastic layer between him and the pen. I would be gone for the weekend, sometimes for three days, but he’d always be there to greet me when I got back to work. I wasn’t very happy with work those days and it cheered me up to have something wating for me when I got there.
The day before I left for Tokyo, I brought the fishie home, so Jake could take care of him while I was gone. I woke up the next morning to find him floating on the surface. I figured my friend didn’t want to be a burden to anyone or didn’t like the idea of not seeing me for six months, the scheduled duration of my trip. That was the only way I could stop myself from being sad about having lost my friend.
My first week at work here, in San Diego, I dragged Jake to a pet store and bought another fighter. I had had my old one for almost a year and remembered his generous companionship and easy care. I took my fish to work and fed him daily and tried to talk to entertain him. “Here you go birdie,” I’d say each time. I have had a bird for the last eight years and am so used to feeding him that I would say the words before I thought them. After a few weeks of making the same mistake, I decided to name my fish “Birdie.” This way, he wouldn’t get offended at my mistake.
Birdie kept me company during long nights at work and came home with me at the end of November, when I started working from home. I put him in front of the balcony so he could watch the palm trees and enjoy sunny San Diego. In the last two weeks, Birdie kept staying at the bottom of his tank. I tried to entice him with food or with clean water, but he would appear momentarily before he sunk back into the bottom of the tank. I knew something was wrong but I had no idea what to do. I just hoped, like me, he was a bit gloomy and would go back to being happy soon.
This afternoon, my little fighting fish, Birdie, died. I’ll miss you my little friend.
There are days when something tiny throws off the whole balance of the day. And you can’t even tell why, when, or how it began. Days when an unreturned email means much more than the fact that the person was too busy. Days when a small rejection becomes personal. Days when all color seems to drain from the world and everything is seen through blurry eyes. Days when the ones on your side don’t know what they’re talking about and those on the opposite side have it right. When a miniscule hiccup on the road becomes a full blown hurdle. Enough reason to stop trying. Days when you feel it’s easier to give up or give in. When you want to go to sleep just so you can wake up to a new day and hope it will be better. When all possibility out of this one is already drained out.
Today is one of those days for me. Here’s to wishing tomorrow looks better.
I am beginning to wonder if marriages that do work are rarer than those which don’t. Since our wedding, last year, four of my friends got divorced or are in the process of divorcing. Another two separated. One of which was engaged and the other dating for almost seven years. Two of my friends got married and one of them got her marriage in a much better track. That ratio is six to three which is two to one.
Part of me has been encouraging my friends to see things from the other person’s point of view. To try and let go of years of resentment that we love to hang on to. To give it a fair and honest chance and to assume the best of the other person. But then there’s a point after which I also feel like life is too short and how hard do we work before we walk away? How much pain do we put up with? If this were a job, I would have encouraged them to walk away much sooner.
I know the answer doesn’t lie within me and it’s not simple. Each person is different, so is each relationship. But the pattern is becoming too common for me not to take note. I remember feeling the same anxiety right before my wedding. I kept seeing friends whose relationships weren’t working out and friends who were unhappy. I worried that maybe getting married would jinx my happiness. I know it sounds stupid but the fear was there.
And now it’s here again. Not as much for my relationship because I do love my husband and I know I would do everything in my power to resolve any hitches in our marriage. But I can’t keep wondering: Didn’t all my friends feel that way at one point, too?What happens that makes us go from that place to the bitter resentment one? To the place where the only option is to walk away and start anew?
What makes one marriage fall apart at the seams when the other stands the long term test?
I have decided there officially aren’t enough hours in a day.
You might have heard it before; you might have even uttered it before. But seriously, since the beginning of the New Year, which officially was Monday for me, I have been making to-do lists on things I promised myself I would start doing this year. I have a list of daily things as opposed to those that are general. I don’t think my list is that outrageous. It involves returning emails more quickly and thus writing a few emails a day. Updating this site and writing a bit each day. That’s pretty much it. Oh, and doing more things outside each day. Yet, it’s only been two days and I am already behind.
I have to get up at 7am at work and I am ‘at work’ until around 5. Last night, I met a friend at 7 to go to Pilates and by the time we came back it was already 9. So I had a total of three hours to play with: the time between 5 and 7 and between 9 and 10. I am completely out of commission by 10pm and in my third dream by 11. Even if I try to stay up late, my brain is definitely not working past then. Three hours might sound like a reasonable amount of time to get something done, but it hasn’t proven so. It takes me a while to move from task to task. Writing and putting the site up takes about 45 minutes, assuming I know what I plan to write about, which is often not the case. Writing fiction is yet another huge problem since there are times I could stare at the monitor for a full hour before I type even one word, so knowing that the clock is ticking only makes things harder.
What I want to know is how do other people do it? Where is this time that I have no access to? Am I just wasting it?
New Year’s eve is my favorite holiday of the year.
Many people in the United States appear surprised by this admission. In America, you have Thanksgiving and you have Christmas (or Chanukah if you’re Jewish). Nobody I met makes a huge deal about New Year’s. I used to tell people that the reason I made such a big deal about it was because I am Turkish. In Turkey, New Year’s is the biggest holiday of December (well maybe because my family was never religious enough to make a big deal of Chanukah.) New Year’s is when we put trees up and decorate them. It’s when we go out and party all night, returning home only after the next morning’s breakfast. It’s when we exchange gifts. It’s our Christmas.
But this year I realized none of those is the reason I cherish this holiday so fondly. I am a fan because New Year’s symbolizes the end of a year and the beginning of another. Even though I am always sad when I finish a good book, I am always inspired by the beginning of another. Each New Year, I feel full of hope and inspiration for the coming year. It’s a feeling very similar to those fleeting moments I wrote about, but the inspiration lasts even longer and I get to put off taking action on it for a few days. It’s like starting a new notebook. I know it’s silly and I know it’s fleeting. But it still fills me with joy.
I, of course, have many plans for this year. I will lose weight. I will write more. I will take more photographs so I can learn more. I will read more. I will work harder and take less of my work home with me. I will enjoy sunny San Diego. I will make new friends. I will start volunteering again. I will learn at least one new thing every week. I will travel at least every other weekend to see the beauties California has to offer. I will relax more. I will let go a tiny bit. I will eat lunch under the sun at least twice a week. I will reply to email faster. I will participate in life more. I will call my friends more regularly. I will get a dog. I might decide to get pregnant. I will stop being so scared. I will stop feeling so inadequate. I will eat better. I will exercise more. I will stop being afraid to drive alone. I will learn to ride a bike. I will sign up for classes I like to take. I will get to know San Diego and give it a fair chance. I will forgive.
The list can go on forever, of course. But I recently realized that it all comes down to one thing: I need to learn to be happy. I need to give up that something’s wrong all the time. I need to stop feeling so small and appreciate the amazing things and people in my life. I don’t mean it in the ‘be thankful you’ve got arms and legs’ way, though that wouldn’t be so bad either. I mean it in the ‘life really is beautiful and I really am lucky’ way. I need to find what makes me want to be sad so much and rip it out of my system. If I can accomplish that this year, 2004 will be the best year of my life.
I’m not exactly sure why, but I woke up thinking of some of my favorite moments. Since I remember little about my childhood, most of the moments are in the last decade but I have a few precious ones from before. Here they are, in no particular order:
1. Learning to Read: My sister taught me how to read when I was about 3, I was jealous that she could read the newspaper and I couldn’t. So she and I lay on my parents’ bed and practiced until I got it right.
2. My Parent’s Wedding: My parents got divorced when I was in the third grade. I still remember the day they sat us down and told us they were getting remarried, to each other, about two years later. I had to ditch school to go to the wedding.
3. Getting in to AAG: I spent the summer of sixth grade studying for an entry exam to one of the best schools in Turkey. Three quarters way through the summer I found out that they would only accept one potential student. It was too late to give up so I kept studying even though I knew I had no chance as I was a terrible exam-taker. On the day of the exam, I woke up with a fever of 100-something and I was too tired to freak out. I came in second place and the girl who came in first ended up attending another school.
4. My first kiss: My best friend then. My first boyfriend. Someone I truly love even now. A moment I won’t forget.
5. Getting in to CMU: I applied early. I got in through the waiting list in May. Six long months of anticipation, hope, despair. The day I got in my mom greeted me with the telegram and a bouquet of flowers as I left the minibus that took me to school and back.
6. College: Some of my best memories were in college. There are too many to count. All the friends I made. My first job, Boyfriends. Best friends. All-nighters. The list would never end.
7. Corporate World and NYC: I needed a job to be able to stay in the United States. My first real job was the first sign that I might be able to stay here. NYC was the best place to celebrate the beginning of my adult life. NYC was the best place to spend my twenties.
8. Japan: The six months I spent in Tokyo for work taught me everything and more. One of the biggest risks I took as far as being away from every single person I knew and going to a culture and country I knew nothing about and a language I couldn’t speak. Now I can.
9.Birth of my nephews: Being at the hospital when my sister delivered the tiny twins. When she said “Am I a mother now?” When they opened their eyes. Seeing them grow have been some of the best moments of my life.
10. Going part-time: Working at a prestigious bank only three days a week was supposed to kill my career. I didn’t care. I wanted to volunteer. I wanted to take classes. I wanted to live more. I got to do all of it. Volunteered two days a week, took six classes a semester. All for fun. And my career? Only went north. Started as a programmer, moved to managing a small team and then a global team and ended up as a Vice President. So much for “they” who are supposed to know it all.
11.Getting accepted to Teach For America: The night of my TFA interview, my eight-year boyfriend proposed to me. The next morning, my manager told me that I had made Vice President. These should have been the good omen I needed to know I would get accepted but I wanted to do this so badly that I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it on paper. Regardless of how it all ended, TFA was one of the best choices I made in my life and I still feel privileged to have been a part of it.
12. My wedding and honeymoon: Knowing I get to spend the rest of my life with my favorite person on earth. Seeing one of the rare jewels of earth with him. Does it get any better?
13. Leaving NYC: It was time. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. I miss many many things about New York. Walking the streets at all times of day and night. The subway. My favorite bookstore. My good friends. My bagel shop. The opera. SoHo, The cabbies. NYPL. The only place that’s felt like home to me so far. But I am ready for a new start. Something different.
14. Traveling across the USA: A big dream of mine for the last ten years. It was better than I could have expected. Swamps of Louisiana, caverns and white sands and mountains of New Mexico, state parks in just about every state west of Missouri, Great Sand Dunes, lots of lava. My first time camping ever. First time driving for more than a half hour. First time in just about 30 states. First time owning a car. First accident. Tons of memories. Tons of pictures. Tons of stories.
15. Starting Fresh: A brand new city. A brand new job. A brand new apartment. A brand new life. Room for new favorite moments.
What are some of your favorite moments?
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projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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