Fool's Game

Madelynn had always been a pale and ungainly child. Her limbs were longer than was considered proportionate, even after she’d stopped growing, and didn’t seem to belong to the slight, feather of a body that could drift unnoticed through market day crowds and gypsy tents, picking up gossip, discarded trinkets, and unguarded pocketbooks at the same time. My little grey sewer rat, her father used to call her, half affectionately, half mockingly, when he was slumped in front of the warm fireplace after dinner, still on his first or second mug of ale.

Madelynn always wore grey, whether out of habit or because it attracted less attention or just because it meant less laundry for her to wash, no one knew. When her mother had still been alive, she’d tried getting her errant daughter to wear other colors (“You look like a waif, child, with those huge grey eyes and rags to match”), but after the winter pestilence took her mama, seven-year-old Madelynn burned all her brightly-dyed dresses, cut her long black hair, and began dressing in boys’ breeches and loose linen shirts she’d scavenged from the tunnels and patched up.

From then onwards she introduced herself as Lynn, and though the gypsy children poked fun at her for having a sissy name, no one actually dreamed that the slender boy with the unusual, too-big eyes and fair skin could possibly have once been the daughter of the town weaver. Her page-boy haircut, shorn rough around the edges, turned most glances away without a second thought, and those who were sharper, more suspicious, allowed the wool to be pulled over their eyes by Madelynn’s deft tongue, which could spit out curses as fluently as any dock boy (courtesy of her ability to mimic her father’s ways during his drunken rages).

Lynn was known to frequent the fishgut-stained, garbage-infested back alleyways of north Caraway, where he bargained with and peddled his wares to those Underfolk brave or desperate enough to venture away from the tunnels that they’d made their home. All the hard-won coins were always slipped, silently, into the depths of the voluminous sleeves from whence came all his treasures, and no one ever saw him spend a single ha'penny, but every week or so Lynn would simply vanish from the world of those who cared enough to notice his absence. He generally returned half a day later, smelling of dark, smoky bars and wincing in pain. Nobody ever asked of his adventures – people who were born and raised to survive on the streets knew better than to worry about the well-being of others for long.

Her father never thanked Madelynn for her troubles, for the care she took to sneak back into her one remaining muslin dress, now torn beyond repair and well above her ankles, to venture into the dimly-lit, only-regulars-welcome places her father was now too lazy to visit, to fetch him his food and wine. He didn’t ask questions of her as long as there was enough to eat and drink, and she didn’t volunteer any information except when it was needed to divert his ire away from some imagined shortage of liquor. It was better that way. Better to give him what he wanted and keep him complacent, to learn to dodge his heavy but well-aimed blows, while she continued watching and waiting, carrying out her mother’s last wish with the final reserves of her patience.

Time passed. When the moment finally came, Madelynn, who was approaching the end of her seventeenth year, had nearly stopped hoping. But in every human being there is an infinite capacity to nurture even the weakest, most ill-fed of flames and keep it from extinction, and in every stormy cloud one can readily discover a silver lining. Her father’s death was more silver than grey by then, so to speak, and thus she watched his ashes being scattered into the wind with nothing more than a slight sense of relief and an eagerness to begin her journey, to follow the wind wherever it chose to take her.

The house and the few items of value that still belonged to it were sold by an unremarkable young lad who nobody recognized, but as he was quite capable of producing all the proper papers, money exchanged hands without a single furrowing of the brows. The few who wondered about the daughter of the recently deceased soon forgot that she ever existed; their memories of her, hazy to begin with, were washed away as smoothly as waves erase all footprints in the sand.

And so it was that Madelynn set out to seek her fortune. She didn’t know where she would go or how she would get by, really, a not-particularly-handsome boy who didn’t even have any facial hair or useful, manly skills. It was foolhardy to expect Fortune to simply shine a light onto the path that would most quickly lead her to some fitting employment, but Madelynn was willing to persevere. When all was said and done, though, she didn't end up finding solely a means to earn her livelihood. She found a home, she found a king, and she found, most unexpectedly and least sought-after of all, love.

Take the bike.

Just thought I'd share:

engineer: a kick-ass uber-genius with godly math and science abilities, the training for which is completed at the expense of the ability to spell and to talk to members of the opposite sex.

Paraphrased, courtesy of Urbandictionary.com 

I was reading old issues of Newsweek in the dermatologist's office last Friday, and this one article about parents having to deal with their kids going off to college had a comment that caught my attention:

Students of this generation are caught between two quotes, both by T. S. Eliot: "And indeed there will be time" and "Hurry up, please, it's time."

And my first thought was, hey, I guess AP Lit really will pop up every so often in the real world. ...My second thought was, which one of these is the mantra to my life?

I mean, yes, it's true that we all live in an extremely fast-paced society, where it's all about how quickly you can learn, how fast you can drive, how many classes and extracurriculars you can cram into one day, how fast the service is at restaurants and banks, how many years it takes to get your college degree, get out there, find a job, marry and make babies, etc. etc... Time is of the essence, and it seems like we're always being pushed onto the next bigger and better thing.

And to the casual observer, it looks as if my life is as much a product of the times as anyone else's... schedule packed to the max, constantly pushing the speed limits on Vanderveer, always hurrying from one place to another, starting the Penn State 6-yr accelerated med program... It's always hurry-scurry, through the rat-race.

But then I stop. Look around slowly and notice all the things that this world has to offer. And guys, we've just graduated high school... there's a long, long road ahead of each of us, and plenty of time to stop and enjoy the experience. Live the moment. Seize the day. (insert more meaningless maxims here).

When you think about it, all this procrastination that so many of us are guilty of is really just another way to slow down and rebel against the inexorable passage of time in the only way we know how - no matter how ineffective it is, it's still a form of unspoken defiance. At least, it is for me.

So, as I'm sitting here in 0222 Wolf Hall, University Park, in front of my laptop (with newly connected Ethernet!!), I'd like to take the chance to wish all of you the best of luck. You may be one of those people who lives by the carpe diem ideology, or you may be someone who likes to have a straight path mapped out for you from moment to moment. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this summer (because there will never be another one like it), and I hope you learn, either now or later, which philosophy suits your life... because I'm about to start finding mine.

I'll be off of Xanga for a while (though you can now find me on Facebook!) because it's really not conducive to productive college-learning-ness... yeah. Cell's always there if you need me, though. Congrats again to the class of 2006 (meaning those of you that I didn't get a chance to talk to at graduation, or during any of the many parties that followed... )

This is Siyi, over and out.

From Mumbutu Productions, Unlimited...

When the trees have lost their leaves,

And snow hangs heavy upon its limbs,

And the world is cold and quiet,

There will be...

FANDANGO

Hee. Our lit video? Is amazing. That's all I have to say on this matter, at this time. Come drop by 7th/8th period if you don't have an exam...and be prepared to ogle -->  

Edit: ::cue dramatic music:: It's here (on Google video <3!). 06.21.06

And, erm... if you're confused after you watch it... ask me for explanations ^^;

Laser tag!

"Those were his salad days, and he thought they might last forever."

Went to Manalapan, NJ on Saturday to engage in a highly kick-ass bout of... Outdoor Laser Tag! (in belated celebration of the birthdays of Dan Brown, Dave Andrews, and Dave Archibald).

Mission began at 17:00 hours. (Yes, we were the first car to arrive and the only ones who didn't get lost )

The black team kicked the green team's asses. ...Well, okay, so we tied, but considering that they had an ex-Marine *and* an actual staff member playing on their team the enire time, winning 3 out of 6 games isn't so bad. Ali, Jen and I had some nifty teamwork going on - girls with guns are sexaay.  (I'm sure Melissa would agree, as she was attempting to stuff the laser sensors down her shirt). Yeah... xP

Anyway, went to T.G.I Friday's for dinner afterwards and had this huge plate of bruschetta chicken pasta. It was insane. Many thanks to Liz and Eric for helping, though I still didn't manage to finish it completely. *fails at life, a little* I know. -_-

After the Diff Eq final tomorrow, I'm free. Four more days until graduation...

Oh, and for those of you who are still curious as to what the salad was about, check out dictionary.com. Props to Alice for being at the same exact random site and recognizing it. :D