200, woo!

This will be my 200th blog post since my goal of reaching 100 posts. As I sit here, frazzled, yawning, and drinking coffee like a blue collar worker, I think about what these blog posts signify to me, and the good–if any–that they have served. The first thing I realized is how specific these posts are in representing my mentality at any particular time. For instance, as I was typing the beginning of this post about me being “frazzled and yawning”, I was feeling a certain writerly flair and mood that would have sent me in an exposition about the poetics of life. Incidentally, after I finished typing that first sentence, I took a break and watched a few music videos online. Upon returning to the post, I realized how detached I had become from the first sentence since I wrote it. In fact, I was surprised by how my words stacked up together to form the sentence it did. For some reason, even though I thought the sentence still sounded coherent and fairly “cool”, it no longer felt familiar to me. It was as if I had puked it out and am now watching it writhe on the ground.

So what exactly is this soft, wet, writhing blog thing that I puke out systematically every morning? I don’t have an empirical answer, but from experience, I know that it is something both connected and detached from my life. When I am in the moment of writing–like I am now–it is something familiar and warm to my touch, something unmistakably connected to me. After I finish the post and slap a big witty picture on it, however, I find that the thing I had sent out into the world no longer belonged to me. Like a clay exposed to the winds, my writing slowly begins to grow cold and harden, solidifying into a form captured in a moment of suspension. And whenever I look back on the blog to examine my old writing, I find each post distinct, not only from myself, but also from one another. It is at these moments I stand in awe and amusement at how briefly I lasted as the author of my writing.

At times, I would doubt my own role in this process. “Did I really think ‘that’? Did I really write ‘that’? Could I ever do ‘that’ again?” Like standard nametags, these questions come attached to every single post I write. Yet, as truly the author of my blog, I know for a fact that I did indeed think “that” and write “that” at the particular moments in time, even though I will never be able to replicate the same feat in quite the same way ever again. But isn’t this the case for all of life? When I smile at a squirrel, when I skip down the street, when I relax my face against the cool wind, I will always be a little different from all the other times I acted similarly. Each immediate mental experience and physical manifestation I have in the world is different. Likewise, my blog posts represent frames that capture the trajectory of my mind as it moves through time–preservations of a more fluid and dynamic human behind the computer. Because I have taken the time to blog every day, I can always flip from post to post now and then, watching my written gestures move around and about like a funny character in a crude animation flip book. It takes a lot of pages to animate this little character, but for what it is worth, that is what makes all the difference.

Political, Action!

The following is the first email I’ve written to a political figure:

Dear Governor Schwarzenegger,

I am currently a rising third year student at Berkeley, and I am writing in regards to the situation with the proposed cuts on the Cal Grants. As a recipient of the grant, I can testify to how significant such a program is to not only myself, but also to the thousands of low income students who would not be able to attend college otherwise. I am aware that the state of California is in a budget crisis. However, to cut back on education would not only exacerbate the current situation, it would squander the future investments for a more productive state, as well as undermine the most critical component to developing more informed citizens. I understand that you, like all decision makers, are faced with tough decisions for dealing with this budget crisis–after all, the cuts have the be made to one program or another. However, to cut back on the Cal Grants program at this time when higher education is needed more than ever is parochial, unwise and ultimately counterproductive. I hope you will reconsider your budgetary priorities and stand in solidarity with the students who represent the future of California. 

Sincerely yours,
Michael Lin