My dad has this habit of suggesting things. If I’m visiting a certain city, he’ll mention a show I should go see or a person I should meet up with. Never mind that I don’t know the person — it’s his cousin’s best friend from fourth grade — or have any interest in the show — but it’s about birds! everyone likes birds! — he will insist that I check it out. Over the years, I have learned to smile and nod and say, “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll definitely look into it,” with no intention of doing so at all.

When I studied abroad in Spain two years ago, I thought I would be free of my dad’s suggestions. He doesn’t speak Spanish. Who could he know in Spain? So imagine my surprise when right before I left, he called to tell me there was something I just HAD to check out.

“Bridges.”
“Bridges?”
“Yes, bridges. By a man named… Calatrava.”
“Uh, okay…”
“Did you write that down?”
No.“Of course.”
“They’re in Valencia.”
“Dad, I’m in Madrid.”
“You can’t go to Valencia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, try to see them.”
“Sure thing, Dad. I’ll definitely look into it.”

When I booked my trips — to Seville to see Marci, to Barcelona, to Paris — I thought nothing of my conversation with my dad. But the program I was in, IES, arranged a couple weekend trips for us, including one to Valencia.

I was actually late to the Valencia trip because I was coming on my own from Seville, where I had spent Marci’s birthday with her, refusing to drink sangria. (Sorry!! I probably should have had some…) So when I did finally meet up with my classmates, I was exhausted. I was half-asleep as we rode on the tour bus with our guide narrating the history of each sight as we passed.

I woke up when I saw this:

This is the entrance to L’Oceanografic, Valencia’s amazing zoo/aquarium, and part of their Ciutat de les Arts i de les Ciencies, most of which is designed by — you guessed it — Santiago Calatrava. I rolled my eyes when I heard our tour guide intone his name through her microphone. My dad was never going to let me hear the end of this.

But as I saw more of Calatrava’s architecture, I fell in love, with his work and the city that embraced it, and I decided that maybe I should listen to my father more often.

Last night I was talking with Marci about Sex and the City and Grey’s Anatomy, and how Carrie & Big are essentially Meredith & Derek, or vice versa really since SATC came first. Marci is not a big fan (to put it mildly) of how fuc– erm, complicated, these relationships are, yet how they are protrayed as true love. I told her that as someone who has had 2-3 breakups or breaks or whatever you want to call them with my current boyfriend, I was hardly in a position to judge. However, in my relationship, no cheating was involved. Mostly it was miscommunication, and/or being 20 years old.

Anyway, what I realized today is that my relationship with Andy is by no means the most fuc– ahem, complicated, relationship I’m in. May I present to you…

Writing a Novel: A Love Story

It’s not The Notebook, but it’s pretty darn accurate. It’s also not written by me, but read it anyway.

me: not all of us can be geniuses like you, okay?
this is why you’re at harvard
and i’m a writer
b/c i accidentally put underwear on inside out

Marci: haha
so why are we both poor?

me: LOL
good question…

I went to this page to support a friend; I was pleasantly surprised to get a good story, too.

Madeline DeGrace’s Fundraising Home Page

I’ve only met her a few times (including once in Spain!) but even in those brief meetings I could tell that Marci’s mom was as wonderful and strong as Marci says — if not more so.

And how could I not like someone with the same first name as my first novel’s protagonist?

From an MIT newspaper article about Junot Diaz that Marci sent me:

So how did he triumph over his writer’s block? For one thing, he set aside the sci-fi book that wasn’t coming together. Beyond that, it was a matter of persistence and hard work.

“I just bullied myself through it. I just kept throwing myself out into the wilderness of the word,” Diaz says. “I would write 200 pages, get [expletive] depressed and crazy, sit around for two months, and then come back and write another 200 pages. It was endless. Sometimes they don’t come easy.”

Ah goodie, a peek at what lies ahead.

I mentioned this to Andy, and of course we got into a little fight about it. It seems like when it comes to my writing, we always end up arguing. I say he just doesn’t understand, when of course he does, he’s already written a book, plus he knows me really well. And he says I’m just too unmotivated/distracted/scared/easy on myself. Which isn’t always true. But probably sometimes is.

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