Strange, New Things

Little hands, little feet
Little fingers, little toes
Smooth and new, twisting furiously, curiously
Grasping this, touching that
Feeling new sensations spread like warmth
Drinking in the novelty, the strangeness of it all.
Sprigs of hair, bright and soft
That cover a pink head, pink ears, a pink face
With its tiny features etched secretly,
Hiding blurry eyes that focus, un-focus,
Uncovering shapes, structures, things;
That will soon be known, memorized,
And taken for granted.
But until then,
They remain new.

And the prize goes to...

What's the point of dog shows?
Does judging a dog by the shininess of his coat really make a difference to the world?
It probably doesn't to the dog, I mean, he's probably just as happy to roll in some mud puddles or indulge in a bit of scampering and general padding around here and there.
Why is it so necessary for society to arrange nature into a hierarchic system of blue ribbons and gold stars?
Roses generally don't care whether they are the most fragrant or most delicate. Roses generally don't care at all, actually.
So, why this inherent tendency of ours to judge? Are we so vain that we feel the need to surround ourselves with only beauty or do we require vast systems of categorization merely for the pretense of organization and order?
Personally, I don't differentiate between mutt and pure-bred. I just don't seem to ever get past those cute little puppy eyes!
And then it's all cootchie-cooing from there!

What's in a Name? Let me explain...

Anu. Simple. Two syllables. Very self-explanatory...NOT.

Since I was a child, I remember always having different variations of my name. Annu-eee was given to me by my kindergarten comrade, April, who I adored to bits. My last memory of her was during my final day at Monarch Christian school, and as I was walking to the car. I heard my name being yelled. I looked around only to see April running wildly across the field, pigtails flying, shouting "Anuuuuu-eeee!!" as she lunged into my arms and proceeded to bear hug me. However, not all of my variations involve gumdrop sweet memories.

It was middle school, seventh grade, I believe, a tough time to be a kid. We were all growing, changing, metamorphosing...it was a gross period in my life. Ashwin was new, and he exuded this nonchalant "I don't care about anything" attitude that I would later call stupidity. Anyway, we were not exactly on good terms. This not-on-good-termedness culminated in my next variation, one that would plague me for the rest of the year: "Anu-species that sat in anu melon and laid a tree-egg". We were sitting in Biology, with quirky Miss Santos lecturing in the front. What with the Filipino pronunciations and the constant coca-cola breaks, we were hard pressed to learn much of anything, let alone listen to what she was saying. Unfortunately the one phrase that managed to be communicated clearly was " a new species of trees". The phrase that started it all, and by all I mean the consequent harassing and teasing. Later on in Middle School, I would become El Anu, a mosquito, and Anus, the possessive form of my name on days when I was too tired to care about apostrophes and punctuation. Needless to say, astronomy and grammar became two very detestable subjects, and the planet Uranus was my enemy.

Recently, we have been immersing ourselves in Classical Greek literature, especially Hesiod's Theogeny, which depicts the entire creation myth of the Greek gods. With footnotes galore, each passage is analyzed and backed up with similar creation myths from various other civilizations, especially the Sumerians, whose Sky God, Anu, was the ultimate, omnipotent creator of the Universe. Cool, right, sharing names with an old civilization's ultimate god? Wrong...absolutely wrong. Apparently, due to his constant displays of hubris (Like my new and improved SAT vocabulary?) his wife, Kumarabi, bit or somehow cut off his balls, and his genitals sprouted new, little child-gods. And if history does indeed repeat itself, then I do believe I may have the power of asexuality, so my class likes to think. I think I will need to watch out for anyone who wants to cut off my balls...oh wait, that's right, I'm a girl...yeah. We may face a problem there. I don't know how I will possibly be able to acquire the necessary male organs in time for childbirth! Oh, darn! Suffice to say, that was an awkward history class. I don't think I've blushed that much in one hour!

So, in conclusion, my parents are incredibly wretched people for being remiss in their naming duties. In their next life, I hope one of them is named Dilbert or Richard (Dick). Ah, sweet revenge.

Twas a dark and...rainy day?

Here I am. Sitting in front of a laptop in front of a television in front of a window where I can see raindrops dripping and splashing. There was thunder earlier, but it stopped. There was sun earlier...way earlier, but it's hidden behind the puffs of dark, menacing clouds. I have a sick little child at home. She had surgery to remove four bloody wisdom teeth, and she's on vicodin and ibuprofen now, so she's a little woozy...and delirious. Laying on the couch, she's sweating, then complaining of chills, feverish, then cold as ice. I guess this is where I am required to show my instinctive skills as a medical professional and ease her pain...future doctor that I am. This is just one of those days that calls for cup after cup of hot cocoa and bowls of hot, thick soups. And long novels full of love and sunshine, and marathon after marathon of movies on Lifetime, movies whose name you can't remember when you wake up the next day. Did I mention soup? Alisha craves some, so I'm going to have to mosey on down to the kitchen and figure out how to make some out of frozen vegetables and half a can of stock...this is going to be interesting.

Pray to the Cake Gods

Oh cake gods, I need an affirmation that you hear my pleas and have agreed that this poor soul has indeed suffered enough as to be able to have a frosting that comes together and stays together without complaint! Can I have a sign? A sudden rippling of milk that solidifies the chocolate? Or a stroke of lightning, I hear that the Big Guy does that often enough. Or maybe just a loud crash, I would understand that, yes. Help me make the batter that didn't rise enough as soft as possible, and the frosting as smooth and creamy as I can whip it. I'm not sure how the cake gods like it, but I will light some incense at your feet...or something else...I don't know, that's what God apparently loves since everyone does it, but I'm not sure why ringing a great, big bell is pleasing to God. I would glare ferociously at anyone who woke me up with clamoring bells just to see me all tossed and trampled in the morning. Anyways, cake gods, next time, I will go shopping myself because my father does not know the difference between baking soda and baking powder, and so my cake is about one inch thick...Was that loud banging a sign! Are you agreeing that fathers do tend to impede the natural courses of cakes everywhere! Oh...no Alisha just woke up...

Well, thank you in advance cake gods. God speed. Not that you need it, though, seeing as you are gods...
I'm going to go finish my cake now. Yeah.

I Can See the Future

I watched the movie Funny People a few days ago, the one with the laugh-out-loud cast that can't possibly disappoint (Adam Sandler, Jonah Hill, Seth Rogen...come on, it has to be funny!) Well, it was funny..for a slapstick loving couch potato who reveled in the common fart joke with occasional hints of sex and his own penis. Suffice to say, it was alright...at times funny, at times excruciatingly painful, with moments where I felt my brain rebel at the obscene amount of juvenile humor.

However, this is not the point of this post. The point is that in the movie there is a scene where Adam Sandler is confronted by his large, gargantuan, blond male doctor who, judging by his thick accent, is a descendant of the Vikings. The doctor is delivering to Sandler the sudden, breaking news that he only has an 8% chance of survival. I guess this was supposed to be one of those deep emotional moments where Adam Sandler, the comedian, only knows how to channel his grief and sadness into what he knows best, his jokes. So he starts telling the doctor that his hideous accent makes the news sound worse than it is because he sounds like a villain from James Bond, and so on and so forth. Nearing the end of this lengthy roast-fest, the doctor, annoyed by these insults, asks Adam if he has any last questions and Seth Rogen, who accompanied Sandler, says, "Yeah, I have one. I bought a cabinet from you guys recently and I need some help." Guffaw, guffaw, guffaw...oh the hilariousness of it all...

But, this got me thinking abut Ikea. And when I think about Ikea, for some reason I start dreaming about my future home. Coincidentally, I also received the Ikea catalog, and that got the inner dreamer in me going at full speed. I've already planned out my living room and bedroom, which is madness! But, I love the whole Swedish mumbo jumbo about open, airy spaces with bright, bold pieces to match your inner personality...and the stuff's cheap, what more do you need? Well, here goes...

Bedroom: So I'm thinking pristine white, but with tons and tons of fluffy orange pillows on the bed and little hints of orange here and there...not even hints, more like little peeps. I want the bed flush against windows with sheer curtains just like this wonderful piece of inspiration. I'm liking the comfy bed, and those lights on the bed are key for late night reading sessions. Airy, ethereal, clean. And those plants! Woah, totally adds to the effect! I'm also thinking of nixing the orange for light, cheery yellows. I think orange might scream YOW! a little loudly for my taste.


Living Room: Yes. Bring on the mismatched, patterned couches, please. Living rooms need color! They're called "living" rooms for Pete's sake. They need sofas you can sink into, rugs that feel like air, bright lighting, bright colors...the works! And I'm thinking white walls with one accented wall of bright green...or orange. Not sure. But I do know that I want a living room looks and feels like a place you want to work in, play in...but never sleep in. I'm a stickler against sleeping in living rooms.


I've also realized that this post was rather odd with it's irrelevant beginning. But I think I can manage a small line about how life is sometimes disconnected, but in the end the small pieces all come together to form something intelligible, something real.

Ah, how I love a post with a moral ending :)

Let the Weight Games Begin!

Our house, or rather two of the inhabitants of our house, shall now be characterized as...unfortunately, and in some cases unsuccessfully, health-conscious. Well, not health-conscious per se, but rather weight conscious, as in having a tendency to consult with their weighing scale every few minutes and maintaining the illusion of being "comfortably hungry". What is "comfortable hungry" anyways? How can hunger be in any way comfortable? Well...I don't have the answer...you'll have to ask Alisha.

You see, when I said "unsuccessfully health conscious", I was referring to...me. Yes, that's right. I am a servant to my own stomach. I fall prey to the wiles of delectable, moist, chocolatey brownies and mouth-watering morsels of cake, gobbling them down, showing no mercy! Can't you hear those potato chips calling in the cupboards of the pantry? Or the warm slices of toasted bread that beg to be dipped into vats and vats of savory, garlicky olive oil? Food was meant to be eaten! Oh yes, food is meant to be cherished and loved and...

I gained two pounds! Shoot! You see what I mean? You see what food does to people! I can feel the outlines of my body slowly turning into the mush of apple sauce or salty guacamole with flecks of tomatoes and subtle hints of spices like pepper, chillies...Jeez! I'm doing it again! Why couldn't food have zero calories? Why couldn't it be that when you exercised you gained weight? Or, as Alisha says, why can't you lose weight just by chattering and blithering away the entire day? That would be oh so wonderful.

But, you see, it's not like that. In this world yum! equals fattening and yuck! is unfortunately good for you. Things that make you tired are the ones that help you maintain a healthy weight and things that are wonderful, like regular, timed naps at frequent intervals, are indescribably bad for you. What kind of world is this? I would rather retreat into my own cocoon where I suddenly have the body I want and I got it as a result of an angel food cake diet.

As if that would ever happen!

A Stare Down with My Boba

My Asian friends first introduced me to bubble tea, which they affectionately and probably more accurately call boba. With incredulous glances and much shaking of the head, they finally managed to push Alisha and I into a room of little furniture and much color, particularly loud flashes of orange and bright streaks or iridescent green. All of a sudden, time froze. Or at least so it seemed for every head in the little room was tilted so as to gain a better view of us outsiders. Women were seated primly, with crossed ankles and tall cups of liquid resting precariously on their knees. Men were sprawled on nearby sofas, treating themselves to either comics or a riveting game of cards, complete with outrageous bursts of what I perceive to be foul language and sudden gasps of delight, accompanied by tall cups of interesting colored liquid, of course. Pushed to the front of the counter, I stammered considerably, ready to put on my "Where am I? Who are you?" look, the one used during extremely difficult chemistry tests where I suddenly start thinking about atoms, and elements, and matter, and the meaning of life, and where dinosaurs came from, and what relativity is, and....and....where am I? Well, I didn't know what to order. Heck, I didn't even know what this place served other than tall cups of interesting colored liquid. So I muttered the only thing I was sure of, "Can I have something to drink?"

The petite Asian woman, with her indefatigable smile, paused long enough to consider this query then pointed to their vast menu that took up the entire expanse of wall behind us. "You pick drink? Show me." I was about to settle for a low profile, always safe chocolate chai when I decided to spring for the more exotic, the unknown. "Apple Rose Tea, please." "You want that with pearl?"
Pearl. I wasn't quite sure I would like to have pearls in my drink. White, milky orbs of calcium carbonate? Why would I want that? Coming to my aid, my friend hurriedly replied,"Yes. She will have pearls." I will?

Eagerly awaiting my apple-rose tea with...pearls, I stretched out, not failing to observe that Alisha and I were the only people of...a more brown hue. In fact, it seemed like most of the people who were here to enjoy their pearls and what not were mostly Asian, and I mean Asian in the not Indian or Pakistani way. It was interesting to see how the reacted to our presence...actually it was more weird than interesting. I was in their natural habitat, so it seemed. A watering hole of sorts. Where they came to socialize and relax, much like in a spa or coffee house, but this was so much more different. The vibe was young, fresh, energetic, and oh so cute! How had I never seen this place before?

When I got my drink, I sipped cautiously, for I finally realized that pearls were little black orbs that settled to the bottom of your drink and were imbibed through huge multi-colored straws. They looked like clear, little black eyes peering up at me from their home of shiny, beige liquid. From the intense neon packaging to the intimidating straw, this drink did not look appetizing in the least, but I manned up and gulped nonetheless. It was sweet, cold, smooth, with little marbles of delectable gumminess. It was delicious. I was thirsty for more...

Unfortunately, this one encounter began a tapioca craze in my household, starting with my sister and ending with my now reluctant dad. With shrieks of "TAP-OCA" every time we pass one of these fine establishments and constant arguments regarding the best flavor, our once chai dominated household has slowly expanded into the domain of fun, varying beverage options such as Jasmine Green Tea and Honey-Rose Milk Tea. After this first taste of the delights of this Taiwanese favorite, I can't help but marvel at the continuing intermingling of cultures and traditions that is occurring constantly nowadays. That's the moral of this post, of course. Just another lesson about acknowledging the benefits of sampling new cultures and praising the diversity that has taken the world by storm...But I can't help but mention again how much I crave the sweetness of another bubble tea. What do they put in the stuff? It's addictive!

Baljeet, an example for all Indian Children

Stereotypes. They're a big problem in present society, where impressions are always tinged with the slightest shades of personal misconstrued notions. This is a society where you might not know the first thing about derivatives, but you happen to be Chinese, so you can't possibly be horrible at math. This is a society where if you're foreign and your English isn't as coherent, you are considered stupid and ignorant. This is a society that doesn't consider you as the individual, but rather as a part of a mass of faceless, nameless people with similar if not identical characteristics. It's madness...and the madness has even pervaded the innocent programming of Disney Channel.

I was watching Phineas and Ferb, a show about two industrious brothers who imagine the wildest activities, with my little cousin. She adores it, and I didn't mind assuring her repeatedly that I was absolutely loving every minute of it. On this episode the boys, Phineas and Ferb decide to create their very own superhero show, starring themselves and their friends: Isabella, a generic bully whose name I totally forgot, and Baljeet, your quintessential Indian child (so it seems). While Phineas and Ferb decide on their superhero powers, Isabella chooses the power of girlish goodness to defeat the world, Unnamed Bully chooses to become Belch Man, and Baljeet is unsure of what to become...cue the entrance of every stereotype about Indians known to man, well excluding a few, of course.

Phineas: Well, Baljeet...what are you good at? Oh, I know, you're really good at school! You're great at studying, I mean, your parents make you do it all the time! Why don't you be Study Man?

Baljeet: Oh, I know! I will be Hanuman Man, a blue monkey with the power to change his size and carry mountains!

(Gain quizzical stares from the surrounding creeped out children)

Excellent, Disney. Way to portray Indian children growing up in the US as mini clones of their parents with abnormal study habits, no interests (save for school), a queer ability to mention interesting tidbits of their culture at periodic intervals, and a totally ambiguous accent with roots in every country in the world except India. That's definitely educational and appropriate for children within the ages of 6 and 11. What will they think of Indian kids after seeing that? And how is that supposed to make Indian children feel? We're confused enough as it is, what with the clashing individualism of the US and the tradition of India, and now here's one more curveball...

Maybe I should start working on that accent while I study for the next 6 hours, or so.

I Write...

Because it's late in the evening,
And there's a hush that pervades,
A hush both rare and unsullied.
And in this hush, I find a calm,
That seeps into my fingers and bones,
stimulating every nerve and pulse,
injecting in them a quiet, immense force,
Only to be relieved by the tapping and churning
Of whirring thoughts and emotions,
That ask, that beg,
to be thrust upon the clear purity of an empty slate,
Where meanings and symbols collide,
Where even the thickest of spaces is diffused
With the pink blush of words so soft,
With the jagged teeth of words so harsh,
With the slimy melancholy of words so somber,
Words, whose only wish is to be understood,
The wish of so many others before them.

Dirt

They told me I didn't have it.
That Spark. That Resilience.
That Strength that comes from moving mountains.
Jumping hurdles. Overcoming boundaries.
They said I couldn't do it.
Wasn't capable, aware, determined.
Didn't have the iron tinted blood that ran through the veins of warriors.
Or the Grit of the oppressed, the weary, the brave.
Mediocrity was what I was.
The dirt that they merely laid their feet upon.
They.
The great.
The wise.
The invincible.
But even dirt serves a purpose.
For dirt is the foundation upon which empires are born.
Dirt is that which all originate from.
Dirt is that which nourishes life.
Dirt is that which I aspire to be.
Dirt.

The Weight of Words

A discordant string of memories that flit in and out of the pages,

Settling among crisp, fluttered wings and inky wisps of words

An ounce of knowledge in each segment of night

A pinch of wisdom in each margin and space

Emotion leaping,

Passion bursting,

A lusty swirl of tempestuous throes and wrenching, numbing

Pain.

Combined with the waggling of tongues, the language of Man,

A world: surreal, new, textured,

Crafted by the artful mind for those hungry eyes.

Eyes.

Eyes that watch.

Eyes that wonder.

Eyes that know.

Those eyes...

Team Menon Stats!

Team Menon
Chan, Jack...............$85.00
Ho, Amy...................$100.00
Menon, Alisha...........$100.00
Menon, Anu..............$500.00 [Team Captain]
Moore, Kaitlyn..........$60.00
Omar, Shalina..........$175.00
Prochnow, Bo...........$50.00
Shay, Zoe................$40.00
Yasumura, Galen......$0.00
Yang, Chanelle.........$0.00

Total........................$1100.00

The Wonderful Men and Woman Who Generously Donated
-Thank you for your support. I deeply appreciated it!-
The Mahadwar Family
Jennifer Hughes
Annette Chenevey
Dawn Clark
Karen Lane
Jaya Achanta
Margaret Andersen
Sales Family
Jenny Schunick
Marc Code
Ron and Sarith Reuben
Celeste Villanueva

And thank you, Karen Lane, for inspiring and assuring me that I can take this venture on. The hard work and diligence with which you calmly handled your own Relay at Pinole motivated and propelled me to continue on with this event.

A Special Thanks goes out to Ashish and the Junior Mahadwars, who traveled all the way from San Ramon to help set up the tent and canopy and walk for a few hours, and Ron and Sarith Reuben, who helped with the henna and replenished and fed our hungy teenage bodies.

...And the biggest most heartfelt thanks I can give goes out to Jamie Mauroni, who skipped a movie night to bake brownies and make cookie dough for me to sell at the Relay. Her delicious Oatmeal Raisin cookies were a HUGE hit with the older folks who gobbled up the delectable treats with zeal, while the chunky, chocolatey bites of heaven were reserved for the children who bounced upto our stall to ask for two and even three pieces each (much to the chagrin of their parents :D ) Jamie, thank you so much! Your truly a heavensent Angel!

To anyone who read this blog...if you have a wedding, a birthday party, ot just want some baked goodies, this woman knows where the yumminess is at. She's excellent, and I advise you to give her a call (I have her business cards!).

I was Outwalked by a 62 Year Old Breast Cancer Survivor,

Yesterday, June 27th, 2009, at the Alameda Cancer Relay for Life, We walked more than 20 miles together, We drew henna on 15 outstretched palms, We hollered out all the benefits of eating cookies before breakfast (there are 7, obviously), We sashayed through the electric slide and Soulja Boy, We slurped tons of bottles of water and milk teas, We blundered through the assembly of a fantastic, wonderful, slightly beaten canopy, We broke a tent, We admired the beauty and the wonder of the field with the lit luminarias, We sobbed, We laughed, We loved, We fought.


We, the members of Team Menon, stood among the brave, the fearless, the strong, and the hopeful. We conversed with the wise and We played with the joyful.

For a full 24 hours, we experienced the trials and tribulations of a cancer survivor. We listened to the agonizing stories, with pain etched on our faces and in our hearts, and we grieved. Because we couldn't understand, we didn't want to understand the wretched reality that is Cancer.

-The newest Ad Campaign for the ACS!

In the Beginning...

We set our tent up quickly, glancing at the attractions that other more experienced relayers had erected. And we felt the bareness of our little site with its lone poster and mismatched tent. Quickly scraping together a few decorations and supplies, we proceeded to envelop our canopy in posters galore and pink frou frou streamers. Our team began to arrive, trickling in slowly and steadily as the day progressed: Zoe, Amy, Bo, Chanelle, Kaitlyn, Jack, Shalina, Larkin, and Galen.












Then a woman came up to me. She was bald. A pink and purple ribbon displayed on her pink sweater, she flashed me a smile. And she seemed to understand exactly what I was thinking. I was wary...afraid. I didn't want to think of what she had faced. The chemo, the endless doctors' visits, the misery of it all. She looked so defenseless, so frail, and I wanted to scoop her up and hug her because I couldn't bear the thought that this woman, who reminded me of my own grandmother, had had to endure such indescribable pain. She knew I was new; I had that look on my face, the look of helplessness. I didn't know what to say to her, what to do, or how to act, but she slowly drew me in, invited me into a conversation I didn't realize I was having.


-Yes. I was new.
-Yes. I have known cancer survivors.
-Yes. I was enjoying myself.
...Your husband thinks oatmeal raisin cookies make a wonderful breakfast?
Well, then I have just the thing.

Loaded with cookies and promising to come back, she tottered away in, I was happy to note, a pair of bright pink, patent, heels. A seemingly uneventful exchange. A back and forth of common pleasantries. But you don't understand! I was expecting a certain sadness, a hint of what hid deep in her soul. I was expecting a downtrodden woman, bitter after experiencing some of the worst things the world has to offer. And instead, I found love, hope, faith, and the strength of a thousand and one men all carefully nestled into the sweet interior of a kind, old woman. I found the embodiment of what I would later learn was the spirit of every survivor on that track....and this made me think and reflect on my own situation...

I attend one of the most elite private schools in California.
I have very possible comfort I need.
I have two loving parents and a twin who provide me with everything I need to succeed.
I am healthy and have health insurance and access to excellent health care.
I am alive.
I have no right to complain about my life.
No right, whatsoever.



To Ashish Uncle: You towed along your children and you infused our site with all the potent enthusiasm of a girl scout. From managing to carry 4 large chairs from San Ramon to Alameda and urging us lazy louts to get on with our work, you filled our morning with your good-humored teasing and humor. Thank you for coming, it meant the world to me!



Our Day...was filled to bursting with all the ingredients necessary to make a wonderful day, one of those days you remember years later and tell your kids about. I had my family, my friends, and strangers who loved and appreciated me no matter who I was. Amidst the cake walks and the lemonade and the girlish gabbing that annoyed the "young men", we walked and walked... And while we walked, we were joined by people of all shapes and sizes: women in bold, flowery prints with motherly faces, men in wheelchairs still going strong, children flitting around like butterflies. As a mass, we walked. And as a mass, we, of course, lay in the grass to enjoy the sun and partake of baked yummies! We were just one group among many, celebrating those who were with us and remembering those whose spirits will always remain in our hearts. We celebrated because we knew that cancer might always be around us, lurking, but that it is also something we could fight against and win.










-Thank you Dad and Mom and Ron and Chatta:
*You managed to feed and watch over 10 teenagers while they ventured into the unknown world of fundraising.
*You bought henna and calmed my fears about my artistic inabilities.
*You wheedled and coaxed your friends and colleagues into donating towards the cause.
*And you supported a team of youngsters when it looked like they were about to fall flat on their faces.
*You guys have lotta nerve, a lotta guts, and a lotta heart!
I LOVE YOU!!

Our night...was long. Put four tired girls in a tent at 1 in the morning, make sure one of them can't get to sleep, add the crunching footsteps of a man who was in the middle of his first "practice" marathon (Great Job Dad!) and you get one crazy night. From the snores (yeah you, Kaitlyn) to the kicking (the psuedo-twins S and A), we slept amongst a multitude of bugs and little critters in a tent that we managed to set up without breaking. It was intense...but the field was aglow with the tiny luminarias that represented all those who had battled cancer. The light stretched all around us in one never-ending circle, illuminating the dark night. Waking up at 3:30 am, I walked. Because that's one thing I knew I could do. So I walked and as I passed by each lit luminaria, I read each inscription and I cried. "In Honor of my Mother...In memory of my grandmother". I didn't have a luminaria to make...not one person in my family had ever suffered from the disease...and I was so grateful for that. I hadn't experienced the sorrow some of these people were forced to go through. The entire day I had been aloof, slightly away from everything, because my experience wasn't the same. But then, walking amongst those paper bags, my heart felt a little heavier, and I grieved for those I didn't even know. Because I could suddenly feel the pain...and it hurt, hurt very deeply.

The Final Hours...were spent packing, running for coffee, and quickly cleaning up. As everyone left, and all the luminarias were taken home, the field was suddenly filled with hundreds of men and women for the Final Lap that would complete the Relay for Life. The celebration was over. But one day isn't enough. We must use every day, every moment that we have, to remember those who have passed, celebrate the survivors, and fight back against cancer. We must stomach our own fears to assuage those of others. We must nourish those with hope and courage before attacking our own minute worries. We must imbibe the spirit of giving, and give all that we have to those that have nothing. We must beat the bad, ugly, and evil in this world so that the good is all that remains in our hearts and all around us.