Writing used to be what I did to delve into myself and hide from reality, reconstructing my own histories and memories. Ever since I lost my job – wait, let me rephrase that. Ever since I knew I was going to lose my job or at least had the bad news hover over me enough to know that my run at Disney was done on account of immigration issues, I’ve found myself in survival mode.
The mental operative was purely to exist and to find a way to avoid, for the lack of a better word for it, my deportation. All the while, I was fielding questions left and right about how things were; there are so many ways to explicate that your situation is complicated and that right now you are in auto-pilot and that every moment you spend explaining immigration law is another moment that you are losing in what may very well be one of your last days in the home you made for yourself.
So I threw a Hail Mary.
Scratch that, I threw several of them (although I’m not quite sure that you can have several Hail Marys as they are more often than not viewed as the penultimate move) in every conceivable direction – graphic design jobs, graduate school, and management consulting positions. It’s funny isn’t it, when your once last choice of a school (fun fact: NYU was far from being my dream school) becomes your saving grace.
Then you realize what you’ve done in accepting candidacy for a Masters program – it’s everything that I didn’t want. The original plan was to gear up my CV with conference presentations and published papers and go straight for the gold – doctoral degree programs. But life has a funny way of working, doesn’t it?
And now I find myself firing cover letters and resumes left and right to any on-campus non-federal work study job that will receive me so as to finance part of what wasn’t the deal with the parents. The agreement was that they would pay for my undergraduate education and that would be it; the onus would be on me for anything else. Perhaps at this point, we can cite unconditional love on their part and sheer stupidity on my part for not deciding to call it a day.
At least tuition is 30% off for full-time students in this program. The downside, however, is that there are no TA or grading positions, which probably explains the tuition scholarship. Despite hobbling over these hurdles, I’m still left sitting and waiting, much like a boat waiting for the canal locks to lower, allowing me to pass to the next zone.
With all that said, that is perhaps why I’ve retreated to books. Texts, whether they are memoirs or historical tidbits, offer an escape of sorts, taking me away from the present and the memories with which they are associated. They offer me the viewpoint and life of someone else, perhaps another that, too, has suffered but in a different capacity. In any case, they understand pain and struggle, which I need to keep myself in check and remind myself that “this too shall pass.”
Then I come back to this blog – the piled up drafts and ideas that run through my mind have been painful to look at, seemingly additional gargantuan tasks for which I have no room at this point in time. But hey, things are looking up, so maybe I do now.
Image via Flickr (user: samsamcardiff)