The Fishbowl

As I sit here, struggling to contain my frustration and maintain my dignity as I fight to complete my graduate school admission essays, I find myself also battling another opponent. There appears to be a fundamental clash between my desire for natural lighting and the desire for the privacy in which to freely rant at my computer in a prolific stream of rage-filled words and gestures. It is difficult to patch together an essay worthy of woo-ing MGH Institute of Health Professions when every five minutes a little impish grinning face pops up in the window waving and yelling, "Hello Miss Sarah! I love you full!" followed the next minute by the stares of the gardeners as they wonder what on earth the crazy white woman is doing yanking the hair out of her head. I live in a fishbowl. A fishbowl located conveniently in the school parking lot. I am truly in the center of it all and on some days I am thankful for my prime location. On days like today, however, I find myself cursing Indonesia for not only making me lose the ability to write a proper English sentence in under 4 months, but also for stripping away any private space or time that, as a Westerner, I feel entitled to. For, even when I close the filmy curtains of my fishbowl it is possible to see though them into my home. With them closed, however, I do retain the luxury of freezing when the faces appear in the window and pretending that if I don't move they may mistake me for an armchair or perhaps a large pet cat if I can't keep from twitching. I don't think I'm fooling anyone.
I've been thinking of forgetting about the whole graduate school dream for awhile and pursuing my other dream instead: backpacking across Europe for a year. There are old friends to visit and historical places that I am itching to see. I could be happy with the itinerant life--always somewhere new to go, always something new to see and learn. Unfortunately, my parents raised me to want to become something, to make something of myself, and to do something with my life. My father also passed on motivation for immediate action and impatience in waiting to getting your hands into the task. So, graduate school applications here I come. Besides, I already asked for letters of recommendation...can't let my professors down! Until I finish, the curtains are closing again and I am becoming a recluse the likes of Dickinson. The creative process is just so difficult without M&Ms...