I should be working. But I am googling volunteering opportunities in Turkey! I. want. to. go. to. TURKEY!

The Solution to Global Warming: Indians II

New Delhi has a population of 13 million people in almost half the area of NYC that houses 8 millions. While NYC has serious housing problems and keeps rising higher and higher buildings, New Delhi, aside from the traffic, seems unbothered by these numbers and the buildings have an average of 5 to10 floors at most. “How did you manage that, Delhi?” NYC might ask. Delhi would only shake her head assuming that NYC understood the 3000 word essay that a head-shake means in India.

In Delhi, streets are full of life. You have street barbers, Chai-wallahs, shoe fixers, seamstress, broken-waterpipes-turned-public-showers, and peoples sleeping in every corner. To the tourist, this is a “wow, this is so different. Oh, so many poor people. Wow.” To the humanitarian, this is human misery and a sad story. To the raw eye, this is people playing the cards they were dealt, with a smile. Now that is a skill we need to survive global warming. Don’t fix the universe, just change the people.

Europe has three quarters of a billion and over a dozen of languages. So, they decided that they must learn more languages to communicate better with their neighbors in the union. India has a different approach to the issue. It’s called the head shake. “How can I get to Siri Fort Rd?” Answer: head shake. “How old are you?” Answer: head shake. “Did you do Namaz today?” Answer: headshake. “Do you want some Chai Masala?” Answer: head shake. “Is that blood? Do you need an ambulance?” Answer: head shake. This universal head shake can be a broad spectrum of meanings. In fact, it can mean whatever the headshaker wants it to mean. The magic behind this language is that the observant would understand what it means every single time.

What is the head shake? The head shake is the rotation of one’s chin while the point at the tip of one’s head is fixed. To practice such maneuver, place your left hand at the top of your head, and tilt you chin right and left. Keep doing so, until you feel confident to remove your hand. Now, you can speak the language of the headshake … but you can’t understand it. To understand it, you must have some Indian blood in you!

Though, I found that Indians have what might be fatal to their capacity of surviving global warming days – an obsession with fair skin. I did not realize the significance of the issue until I saw Johnny Abrams running shirtless on a beach in an advertisement for Garnier skin whitener lotion … for men. My jaw dropped. It is true, the white race males have been to tanning salons, but never ever McDreamy advertised a tanning solution. That is just unacceptable. But, don’t worry; my plan will take care of this issue. When brown is mixed with white it gives a tan color, thus my plan will produce a perfectly tanned world.

With the Indian genes spread across the world, more people will have the chance of surviving. We shall start in Germany, to help preserve their engineering skills.

And that is how the human race is saved.

The Solution to Global Warming: Indians I

Global warming is reality, and the world is acknowledging that fact progressively – which is deeply concerning. I am not too worried about melting Eskimos, and endangered Penguins. Ya, Penguins are cute and all – but that is about it. Nor is the super hot days that worry me. It’s the way we are fighting global warming that is scaring me – green initiatives.

With all these green initiatives, what’s going to happen to V12, 6L engine powered super cars using 2 gallons per mile? By the time I can afford one -- 150 years old or so – green movements would have killed those cars off the market. No, a hybrid Carrera GT is not acceptable. Would Scarface been such a classic if Al Pacino used a BB gun for his “lil Friend.” The thought just makes me want to puke. Thus I propose my solutions to the global warming issue, fix the people not the climate.

Darwin has a point – If you have the genes for it, you will survive it. That is when I thought of this plan. If we find the genes that can survive extreme climates and living conditions, we can spread theses genes across the world to immune everyone against global warming giving them the capacity to survive.

Indians.

Indians have what it takes to survive extreme climate. There are over 1 billion of them in India only – not counting all the American, African, English, and non-indian Indians. To accumulate this number, they must’ve done something. Add to it that India is not the perfect climate for the human species. I am not a climatologist, but I am 95.4% sure that India houses all the extreme climates of the world, and none of the desirable California ones. Yet, there are over a billion Indians in India.

They have the full package; reproduced to over one billion in the extreme heat; attained peace with mosquitoes, flies, and other mutant bugs; founded a one sign language that is exclamatory in nature; developed persistency to get what they want from anyone and anything … The list goes on. But I guarantee you that I have never seen such countless numbers live in such extreme conditions so similar to the dooms days Al Gore keeps ranting about.

Weekend Traveling Schedule

Philly -- July 10th - 12th

Austin -- July 17th - 19th

Fort Worth -- July 24th - 26th

LA -- July 31st - Aug 2nd

Dallas -- Aug 7th - 9th

Chicago -- Aug 14th - 16th

(San Diego or Southern Carolina TBD) -- Aug 21st - 23rd

Dallas -- Aug 28th - 30th

(TBD) -- Sep 4th - 6th

San Juan, Peurto Rico -- Sep 11th - 12th

San Fran -- Sep 18th - 20th

San Salvador -- Sep 25th - 27th

(TBD) -- Oct 2nd - 4th

On my way to the Mosque today, I stopped for an accident that had just happened. There was a large SUV flipped on its side, and a white Lexus that has no front or engine any more. A group of people were helping the SUV guy climb out of the car. I ran out there to help.

All involved in the accidents were fine. Albeit, extremely shocked. Neither drivers could say anything. Just nodding or mumbiling some voices to answer our questions. The cops were called. Luckily, an ambulance driving by stopped to help as well.

The Lexus driver had some cuts on his arms and all. I walked over to ask him to get some bandage on the cuts by the medics around. He was shaking. Didn't say anything.
"sir?"
"Shit, my daughter just totalled her car last week. fuck, shit," was first thing he said.

Catastrophy!!

Seriously ... Really!

Handicapped

It is tough having a handicapped brain. See, my 8th grade Math teacher pretty much told my father that I am retard. No joke, this is a true story. In the parents-teachers meeting, he told my father that I suffer from slow learning disability and it takes me longer than all of my classmates to "get" something. Though, do you know what was so missed up about it? I was there listening to my teacher telling my dad that I am an idiot.

Over the years, these words of ultimate, pure, genuine constructive feedback resonated in my head. Kind of like one of these psycho movie scenes where someone is high on cocaine and scared of his talking shadow. Or may be like a bee that keeps flying around my head hitting the interior walls of my skull. The poor bee gets tired and goes into hibernation, but she comes back stronger and faster. She, the bee, has been living in my head for so long that I could predict when she's coming out of hibernation, which is mostly when it takes me a little bit longer than expected to reply to some common comment as "you look tired today," or a subtle hint "You know the Omni's has free shirt pressing if you stay there," or my favourite "I like your shirt." See, it is not because I am mentally handicapped that I can't reply to such simple comments. It is because I look for the witty, clever, stunning alternative to those over-used, abused, lame, boring, "I was up late last night," "Thank you, I prefer to iron my own shirts," or "Thank you for approving my shirt." It is true it takes me a little bit longer than normal, but only if people wait on me and not give me the "uuhh .. okk ...awkward" look, I would be stunning people with my cleverness and humor left and right. Unfortunately though, the "uuuhh .. ookk ... awkward" look wakes up the bee inside. "You are slooww .. You are tooo slowww ... You are retarded ..."

Recently, I hit a rock bottom low in idiocracy. So low, so dark, the bee gave up and surrendered her life. Last week, a light-bulb flashed over my head for I found something. It was such an enlightening thought that it made my day. In fact, I spent the rest of the day happily and was energetic for a great work-out that night. "Happy man you are today," my co-workers noted after lunch. I would repeat a friend's favourite line, "life is beautiful." I, off-course, lied. The reason for my happy enlightenment was a gross disgusting bogey.

After lunch, I stopped by Dunkin Donuts for re-caffination. The lady at the speaker rattled a barely understandable, "I will be right with you." "All I need is a medium iced coffee," I thought, "but I am not in a hurry to go back to work." So, I did what any man does to entertain himself while waiting. I took my index and stuck it up my nose. Pick away. I was making some good progress up my nose when the lady came back, "How can I help you?" she said. "Can I have a medium iced coffee with skim milk and no sugar, please?" I replied. Flick, flick. back to my nose ... and here it was. Drive thru offers me the opportunity to pick my nose while talking to someone without disgusting anyone! VIOLA! EUREKA!


And here it is, my newly found wisdom setting in front me proving me handicapped.


In my 8th grade, my father listened to the teacher and easily laughed him off when we walked away. "Don't listen to him son. You are smarter than everyone," father said. I found what the teacher said outrageous. My vengeance plan included ruining every class he teaches, and ace every single test in his class. Being the nerd I am both goals were not so hard. I disrupted every class he taught by asking useless detailed questions about every single thing he said. My class-mates loved it, because he could never cover enough material to assign the regular homework.

Eventually, I aced his class. He on the other hand was fired a year later when he bruised a classmate disciplining him.

Currently, I practice my new hobby, picking while conversing, every day enroute to work.

Traveling Schedule ...

1 - Vail, CO: April 2nd - 5th.
2 - LA, CA: April 10th - 12th
3 - Home: April 30th - May 16th
4 - Atlanta, GA: Weekdays throughout June.

TBD ...
5 - Cleveland (Part-II)
6 - Chicago
7 - NYC
8 - D.C
9 - Seatle: May 29th - 31st (not confirmed)

The Smallest Things

Today, I got back my second “feedback” from my now ex-team lead, new team lead, and sub-team lead. I came to this conclusion: the smallest things matters the most. Both times I had feedback meetings, all of the comments were related to the most minor things, in my opinion, I done that I never paid attention to. I just did them, because … just because! Pure and honest intentions do surface after all and you can do nothing about. As Ezazul said to me, while we were talking about the Irving masjid and the Muslim Communities, “Don’t worry about the money, it will come. You wont know where it is coming from, but it will. Just have the intentions and act upon it.” Ok .. Ezazul's comment is a bit un-related, but still talks about intentions!

About NYC and Urinals

Thursday morning, after only 2-3 hrs of sleep, I was standing in-line at DFW smooth talking the Delta agents to let me cross the gigantic, extremely slow check-in line so I can make my flight. Less than an hour later, I was in the plane, on my way to NY, and passed out. Sleeping to the sounds of the jet engines has been my most recent form of nostalgia about school. Engines remind of school; school reminds me of sleeping in class; thus, I am asleep on a plane.

"Are you awake?" the flight attendant said while I was dragging my feet off of the plane. "I .. am working on it," I replied. With no plans, or conscious of what to do, I literally circled the terminal area about six times before deciding on my next move: a visit to the restrooms.

I realized that I really needed to visit the restroom. Really. Urinals were fully occupied, besides I hate using them anyways, so I headed to one of the stalls. Oh my oh my .. I may have thought it was easy feat. A janitor, whom I called the Toilets Guardian, was blocking the way to the stalls.

Our conversation sounded this way:
Janitor: heh?
Me: Nah, eeee.
Janitor: NO NO ..
Me: EH ..

What really happened is this: the Janitor semi-squatted and spanked his own butt, pointing to the stalls with the other hand in a questioning face. Quite the pose it was. I assumed he was asking if I needed the stall for Number 2. So in-reply I leaned backward arching my back and pointed with both hands down below the belt (a.k.a my crotch) twisting my body right and left. He yelled angry at me and pointed at the urinals. I waved him off, and walked to the stall. He literally stood by my stall the whole time I was standing there (and it was a while), creepy, huh! While I was leaving he gave me the evil looks, waved angrily, and cussed at me.

Because of my 10 hours layover, which ironically was about the exact same time I spent in a plane flying to Amman, I went to the city. Again, I had no plans. Wandered and wandered for hours, NY is just fascinating. A friend, future ad hot-shot, works in NY. By the time he was free, combined that he never ever made it on time (that's how I knew he's a hot shot), I thought I had no time to meet up with him. Sorry dude. On my way to the airport I was.

In the airport, yet again another gigantic extremely long check-in line. Though, I need not worry for my luggage is checked in all the way to Amman, and I just need to check in at the self-check-in kiosik. "Pleas, see an agent," that stupid screen told me. Tired and sleepy, words just stumpled outta my mouth when I saw the agent. Before I even repeated to clarify myself, he was yelling at me: "Just answer my question, are you checked in or not? Do you have a boarding pass or not? Just answer my question." Him yelling at me got the words flowing and said firmly, not yelling-lly, "You could calm down, and ask me politely. I could hear your voice, and I do understand your English." Regardless, I walked away and talked to another agent, whom seemed illeterate of how to use those kiosiks, and I had to teach her!! After a couple of more agents I had my boarding pass.

WTH? I don't understand. This time, even when boarding the plane, they had us going through another security check. Take off the shoes, the laptop out of the backpack, etc. An old grandpa was about to walk through that security screening machine. Though, he had forgotten his sweatshirt and his belt on. The security man behind the machine informed him in their, security peaple, firm direct way: "Sir, you need to take off your sweatshirt ... Sir, you, also, need to take off your belt." The grandpa was extremely irritated. His response was: yelling at the security guy and cussing him in Arabic. Security guy standing still. On the other hand, I was cracking up as well as all the other security officers in the room. Only in NY security officers can laugh off such a thing. In Texas, I had the feeling, that such thing would end up with the grandpa cuffed and to the ground.

There is just something about NY.

He was on the Slow Side!

I am not sure what is it about YellowCab that sends me their worst drivers and cars. I really admired their service, and thought highely of them. Why don't they treat me back with some love. Forget love, just treat me without stinkiness and crazy drivers, puhleeze! After that time when Santa Clause's evil, unemployed brother drove me to the airport, I had a series of stinkiness luck. And I mean literal stinkiness. One guy couple of weeks back was, I swear, dozing off on the highway. I saw him slapping himself to wake up. But that dude at least kept his car going straight. Today's dude was just something ... unique!

By now, I could do my monday morning pre-flight routine while still asleep. I woke up at 4:15 am. I showered, brushed my teeth, dressed up, threw the trash out, and put the NetFlix in the outgoing box. In that order, I did them like a robot. I finished early, and the cab was 5 minutes late, which was enough for me to get that funky tasting $0.45 Mocha coffee from the machine downstairs.

The cab is here. The driver got out of his car. My robot eyes started checking the list. Clean: check. Doesn't Smell: check. Understandable language: check. Looks normal: No-effin-way. He was wearing this big massive chain with this big massive cross hanging at its end, rapper style. Though, he was not like Eminem trying to act black. The "necklace" was just out of place. I could see a similar sized cross hanging from the back mirror. Apparently the guy is serious about what he believes. Fine with me! Though, it got kind of interesting when I found a gigantic, grandma-cant-see-well sized bible on the back seats. (Here for my pleasure reading.) This will be interesting.

Of course, the taxi stunk like a puke. I would rather be cold over asborbed by this smell so I rolled down the window, put on the headphones and kicked back to sleep.

BOOOM. TSK TSK TSK. ZZZZZZZZZKKKKK ZZZZZZKK. Sparks. Swerving. Slowing down frantically. Controlling the car. Pulling to the shoulder.

For some reason, despite that the tires just blow up at a highspeed, and the driver lost control of the car for a little, I was a little calm, rather cool. "Tire blow up?" I said. "Are you calling for another cab, or should I?"
"Oh .. I am very sorry sir. This does not happen often to me." (I really hope it does not.) "I will fix the tire quickly." He said frantacilly.
"No No NO. I have a flight to catch. Call your office and make them send another car. I have no idea where I am."
"Ok, sir." He said while getting out of the car.

Part of me hopeed that coming to a resolution will take a bit longer time so I can nap!

He came back to my side of the car and opened the door, "sir, this gentleman in the van is going to the Airport. He offered to take you with him."

REALLY. Great. Here I am at 5:20 am at the shoulder of Highway 59 N somewhere between Downtown and the Airport. A weird taxi driver telling me to hitch a ride with another van driver, who, chances are, might be a real professional creeper. Hmm ... I really need to get to the airport though. Let me see how creepy is that guy.

Walked to the back. It was a white supershuttle-like van. A peek to the inside revealed what seems a normal guy. O.M.G. I thought, WTH, this is un-effin-believable. He seems normal, and just being nice. I might try my luck.

I was in the van with Brian, who apparently was driving behind us for a while and anticipated this to happen because of the burning he smelled. He was actually on his way to pick up the Eagles band and will be with them for a day as a runner. They are performing at the Toyota Center. Pretty cool. We chatted a bit, and then after a moment of a silence, Brian said:

"Poor guy ... he seemed on the slow side."

Thank you Brian!

When Santa Claus Drove Me to the Airport -- Part 2

With the mini-van’s open door looking like a black hole leading to hell, I had to summon all my strength to go through the black hole. I start recalling all my victorious, glamorous moments; the heavy weights I conquered in the gym, the pizza bets I won, the Freebird’s Super Monster burrito that I ate, and the street races that I won without killing myself. Oh Allah help me. And I stepped in the mini-van.

As soon as my foot stepped in the van, I felt a gush of air toward my face. I retreated backward, protecting my face with my right arm as if I am on the receiving end of a jab. Regardless of my “professional” boxing techniques, the air gust landed a couple of jab and a left hook on my face. Despite the instantaneous damage to my nose, I could smell what he had for lunch for the last week or so. Though, whether his lunch from two days before was a big Mac or a Chipotle is still a mystery.

Once inside, a slight beam of hope shun over me. He had removed the middle row seats and only left the seats in the back of the van. “Great, I am as far as I can be from him in this van. I may well survive the ride.” But getting to the seat was a challenge. The floor was colorfully planted with all kind of shapes and colors of stains. Some of them looked as fresh as couple of hours ago, and some of them dated back to the van’s factory of birth. With some serious twisting and maneuvering, I made it to the seat. I made sure that there are no dinner leftovers on the seat before I sat down. However, there was no time for relief. As soon as my bottom made contact with the seat, he, HE, started talking.

I wasn’t sincere, nice, or very caring about his human nature when I tried to figure out what was he mumbling. I only wanted to know why he was circling around the block for the third time. I didn’t know. But what are my options? No, I wasn’t going to jump out of the window. No. I don’t miss Fency! (my beloved arm cast.) Meanwhile, I realized that he does own a hair brush. It was over the piles of clothes and papers on the seat next to him. Where they his laundry or his closet? I don’t know. I had bigger problems to worry about; breathing.

Yes, breathing. See, the air felt as heavy and greasy as that Double Mac he probably frequently has (he seems more like a Mac guy, not a BK guy!) My nose and lungs just could not handle it any more. I started playing games with myself, seeing how long I can hold my breath. That was not very smart, because after 30 seconds of holding my breath, the air flooded my nose. It was more painful. My nose threatened to send all the smelling buds home and never get them again if I don’t stop this air attack on them. My nose gave up. I dropped down my jaw, and started gulping that air down. It was rich in flavor.

By the way, HE was still talking. I took out my book and started reading. He was still talking. I put on my headphones. He was still talking. I closed my eyes and dropped my head on my shoulder. He was still talking. I don’t think there was any way to convey to him that I don’t feel like chit chatting. I gave up, again. Put on my headphones, my eyes on my book, while I frequently sent out a “mhm … haha … aha.”

For good five minutes, there was piece in the van. He was talking. I was pretending to listen. We were all happy. Until HE decided to slam the brakes, jerk the steering to the right, sending me rolling on the Vans floor. I stuck my neck up to see what happened. But it was just your average I-phased-out-and-forgot-to-look-up-front-until-the-last-minute-when-I-realized-there-is-a-car-infront-of-me-and-braked-hard case. I survived the incident, no broken bones, and none of the stains on the floor rubbed on my clothes. Now, I had to make sure none of my hairs are on the floor of that Van. I don’t want to be explaining to a team of CSI agents why my hair was found in this van.

The airport was in-sight, and I started seeing the light in the horizon. At the terminal, I rushed out of the van, got my luggage, and handed him the AmEx. When he gave me the receipt, I looked at the tips box. Looked at him. Looked back at the receipt. Looked at him again. Then, scribbled my signature and 20% tips. HE knows where I live!

Coffee in hand and review questions in another, can't better re-live late-night school days. Only difference is that I am setting in a lobby of a hotel drinking a 6$ coffee for both of which I did not pay anything!
I miss school life style!

When Santa Claus Drove Me to the Airport -- PART I

Going through the new founded Sunday rituals, I called the Yellow Cab at some point whilst packing. Yellow Cab’s system amazes me. I’ve been using them now for all of my three weeks in consultancy life!

Three hours later, I grabbed few last-minute things and thrown them in the luggage … forced everything to fit in that poor suitcase, and closed it. My backpack on my shoulders, and the suitcase hauled behind me, I was ready to meet my YellowCab! Momentarily, my phone rang telling me that my cab is here. I was excited. Not only I was ready on time, my cab was there exactly on time. You must understand, the idea of having anything, let me, be exactly on time is somewhat of an alien concept to me. Not only that, my memories of waving down cabs, standing in the heat of an afternoon, with the disadvantage of being a male while taxis passed me only to stop for the two girls standing 10 meters away from me, are somehow not pleasant!

My I’m-going-to-the-airport happiness is taking over me, but behind the front glass doors was no YellowCab; it was a blue mini-van United Cab. At the back end of the mini-van were two skinny legs in a once-were-blue jeans supporting an upper body that was either spying on me from around the corner or, hopefully, simply leaning into the back of the mini-van. “Hi,” slipped from my lips. The legs moved revealing the 6’4” tall moving mass. Large beer-belly, rough hands, thick arms, visible veins, wide shoulders, snow white beard down to the middle of his chest. Few bald spots on his head were lucky enough to have covered by his hair, which apparently is not lucky enough to meet any shampoo products. The mass was standing upright now. The hands to the side of his body are almost two shoulder width apart. They are way far from each other I bet they don’t know of the other’s existence.

He walked toward the driver door with his eyes fixated on me. I was not scared, no, not at all. I was just confused, where’s my YellowCab? The confusion was all over my face, while my hand grip was tightening around the suitcase handle. I thought I can throw it at him and then out run him, just in case… you know … but I wasn’t scared.

He finally spoke. “ heh huh hoh hee … bought out … blah bleh bloh,” is what I heard him saying. The fact is my ears were not sure that he spoke English. Whatever he said might as well be German; I had no idea what he said. But again, I doubt he knows of a country called Germany! So, I had a couple of choices: assume that he said YellowCab bought out United Cab and get in the car; object about not having my YellowCab –WHERE THE !@#! IS MY YELLOW CAB—and risk my life. Guess what I chose …

Turns out this creature loves to talk. It, also, turns out that the two words “bought out” where the last two words that I will understand from him.

I looked at the mini-van’s door wide open. It looked very deep, dark, and scary. What shall I do, it’s too late to run; my luggage is already in the car. “look at him … he looks like a retired Santa Claus … He must be nice .. ok .. he is a jolly Santa Clause …” I told myself instilling the confidence to get in that cab ….

In high school, we disregarded teachers sayings and opinions in a what-do-they-know attitude, which was an excused attitude provided some of the teachers' clear idiocracy. I remember when one time a teacher said, "the more you learn, the more ignorant you become." It struck me as an outrageous statement. Some logic fallacy is all over this statement, I thought. When I protested condescendingly, the teacher said, "the deeper you dive into an area of the more your feeling of ignorance increases." I couldn't argue it as I felt it being kind of true. Of course, I did not show my agreement, and mocked the statement later.

It only took little reading to realize the ignorance. My ignorance.

-----

I did not go on a year long world trip finding myself. I did, though, spend three days on beautiful beaches listening to the sea's random rhythms; sprint across Vienna's streets to catch the train; drive at a whooping 156mph on the highway; read a book in Munich's gardens; watched the Euro2008 final with 60k+ Germans in the Olympic Stadium; witnessed, first hand, some of Bavaria's old traditions. I did not solve the world's poverty, global warming, oil crisis ... not even my own brain crisis. But I re-grouped.

----

-- What do I do? What should I do? This is horrendous. I can't put up with it ... What?
- There is nothing you can do ... just be patient.
-- No ... there must be something to do. No way ... this can't be. This is not meant to be ... it shouldn't be like this. It's just not ... I gotta do something about it.
- Ya ... be patient.
-- I can't ... I need something TO DO.
- Ya .. DO be patient.

----

May be when I step foot back on the ground it will poke. It always does poke then. Though, something is wrong; usually it would be burning by now. It already been hours.
Finally, it is about time I get to walk on the ground. Right foot down ... left foot down ... walk slowly ... nothing ... I feel nothing. Ok ... may be I need to walk a little more. Get my legs going. See the people, and talk to them.
Still ... nothing .. just blank. I feel blank. Why didn't it feel anything? It is the same hallways, windows, floor, walls, ...
Ok, the doors are my last resort. Here it is ... the sun .. the heat ... the smell of the air ... it should poke now ...

blank
blank

dead

----

Back to Austin. Back to the ruins of a kingdom.

The Last of ...

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Standing now at the exit gates of my college life, slowly crossing it while looking back at it, that quote is all I could think of.
---
The last couple of weeks were, indeed, the last of many things with which moments, places, emotions, and people's faces rushed in to the forefront of the memory lines creating early nostalgia. I am incapable of faithfully translating the feelings of the past two weeks in words. Furthermore, the symbolic significance of such a milestone is ineffable. It is symbolic for what I feel sums up the last five years if not the more than that.
---
I feel as if college was a sight seeing tour where I am a passenger in a car and the driver driving slowly, in the directions of my desire, while I am watching around. When I am done with the tour, the driver will drop me off at the train station. I have to choose my train, for it will go to the end of the route so quickly that I won't notice that it is the wrong train. Also, it is much harder to change routes. Regardless, the train goes a lot faster than my sightseeing driver. Faster than my ability to absorb my surroundings.
---
The last two weeks I slipt into a not so unfamiliar mood, the bubble mood. It's a weird place to be. You see everything around you, appreciate it, understand it, but simply don't desire to join it and prefer to observe and reflect upon it. I kind of hate this mood for I miss out on many things. But the older the branch is, the harder it is to mold. One has to learn to live with it's weird shape, and build his garden around that weirdly shape branch.

I can't say that I have not been myself, because this bubble mood is a trademark of me. But I can say that it is a severe case of bubble mood. Couple of days ago, someone I know in the gym couldn't recognize me. He concluded the reasons to be equally split between my bald head and my missing smile.
---
With all that is on my brain, I was not sad. I was reflecting on the years gone and life lessons learned until I realized that I have to say goodbyes. It made me really sad. I have a love/hate relation with goodbyes. I can't not say them; I need to say them. Though, saying them never grows old on you. They are always as uneasy as the first time you've ever had to do it.
---
I have always said that I learn the most valuable things from the most unexpected people. So unexpected, even them wouldn't understand how I learned it from them. But they have to see it trough my eyes to understand. Honestly, it is one of the most intellect things I enjoy, looking beyond the lines, looking for the wisdom in everything. Wisdom is pushing it, but ... you get my point.

Four and a half years at UT, I had met many, many people. Some of them went to be that one person I once ran into, others became friends, brothers, and sisters. Regardless to say, I learned a lot from each person. I am grateful to them. I owe them, which makes goodbyes harder. As if I am in debt and can't let them leave without paying off the debt.
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A corporation sets it's goals based on growth and net profits. At the end of the year, it looks at its results and compares them to the goals. What if the goals change half way through? How can I judge success or failure if the grading rubric has changed? There is one rubric I know of that does not change, the divine rubric. The rubric that talks about what you did for that day after. Sadly, it has not been a success.
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If my college life was a movie,

I would want this morning to be the ending scene.

The scene would start with high altitude view of the Central Park pond surrounded by the strangely 8-shaped running track. The sun is sneaking in on us, but one can already see the sun's smile. As the view zooms on the pond, the bird's morning songs are withing hearing distance now. The track is empty except from the squirrels, ducks and pigeons. Busy feather-cleansing, the ducks are ignoring the squirrels race challenges. Right next to the indifferent ducks and hyped squirrels, Pigeons seem busy checking out their giant shadows. Nevertheless, Pigeons come to rescue and protect the birds pride and race the squirrels, only for both them to get distracted by what can be a delicious breakfast scattered on the wet grass.

eyy .. eyy .. you want some of dis? bring it on ..

There is a bald head moving at the other end of the track. The bald head did not seem to disturb the inhabitants morning, rather made their day. From their point of view, how often does a gigantic moving, bald headed, mass run around them with an ear to ear smile saying good morning to them? Not quite often!

Melee's-built to last is playing the background. The scene is not over yet, of course. As the song progresses,

'Cause this is real, and this is good.
It warms the inside just like it should,
but most of all it's built to last.

There is me in the distance, talking to myself, greeting ducks and squirrels, and tripping over my tall shadows.

(There is no movie without credits, right? And there are no credits without music, right?) As the credits come on, Little Wonders by Rob Thomas is playing.

If my college life was a movie, I would want this morning to be the ending scene.

I would want to ...

WTF moment

So, I went to the lecture, Not in the Name of God: Questioning 60 Years of Israeli State's Atrocities with Rabbi Dovid Weiss. His argument is that Zionism is abusing Judaism to get a country for Jews. So, they are both different, which is good so far. He goes on and on about how Judaism is against Israel; such arguments that are very powerful in proving to the general public that Zionists are there just for the land.

The most interesting thing, and most important argument of his, is that the problem in the Middle East is that the existence of Israel. Well, he is right. He follows up on that conclusion that the solution to a problem is to kill the real cause of the problem. So, unless Israel is dismantled, there will be no peace. He said that Jews lived better in Muslim societies than otherwise.

My WTF moment came about when I started noticing, not only some Zionist Jews disagreeing with him, but the my the Muslims there, too! I though, WTF. WTF. WTF.

Their comments were along the lines of, "how is this helping? how?"
Or, "how is this going to help the situation there? and how do you expect all jews in Israel to go back to exile!?"
I thought to myself, seriously! WTF! He is talking doing. The whole god damn world thinks Palestinians are some parasite people annoying Israel, just because they "hate Jews." That is not EFFIN true. If the world is educated about the issue, no body supports Israel no more. That is real solution.

The guy's argument is simple. The problem is Israel. The solution is get rid of Israel. So, when they disagree. They are either disagreeing with the first or second statement. In either case, I am more shocked.

I left the lecture laughing, and swinging my umbrella.

Content

So, I think I just killed the last bit of pride that I had lingering about not working in the Aerospace industry.

I was talking to a friend, who was explaining to me how he is reasoning to himself accepting a job with a military contractors. I felt bad, really sad, because he admitted that he was reasoning to himself that way, because he does not have many options.

Then, five seconds later, I felt proud and happy. I did actually take a choice. I decided what I wanted. I knew what I did not want to do, and did not do it. I was not pushed into something I did not want to.

Today, I sat in the sixth floor discussion room in ACES, may be one of my favorite spots on campus. If you never been there, and quite possibly you have not, it has those huge large windows through which you can see the Dobie, the tower, and lotsa of skies.

A plane, possibly a Cessna 172, was circling over campus. What a time the pilot was having? I wish I was there. I found myself reminiscing over those days. GREAT times ..