So I’m applying to the creative writing program at UBC. I hope I get in. I have I feeling that I really could. It is 6:42 AM and I haven’t slept a wink. Plan is to stay up all day and fall asleep at a normal time tomorrow night. I want to lose weight. For health and beauty reasons. May as well be frank. I don’t want to kill myself, which is good. Great, even. I wish I had brought my novel, I’m at a Starbucks in downtown Toronto without my novel. I have about two hours until the Chapters/Starbucks down the street opens, and I can hang out in there, browsing books, pulling titles off shelves to peruse, as though I were at a library. Ooo the library, I could hit up the Reference Library downtown. Ooo yes. 9:30 am. My teeth are sensitive, and new teeth are rising through my gums in the back. It is chilly. There are a lot of scary things in the world to think about. I’m not going to think or write about them. I am simply going to write what I observe. The traffic is increasing, as is the flow in and out of this Starbucks. Someone who sounds like Joni Mitchell on the sound system. I think it must be her, actually. Yes, it is. For the creative writing program submission I have to submit writing samples from two genres of my choice. I am submitting poetry and non-fiction, ten poems and about ten pages of non-fiction, the latter is proving tricky to write. I have my ten pages, but it’s not perfect. Of course it’s not perfect, I want it to be perfect. I am shivering, despite having my jacket on. I wonder what my writing is like to read. It is strong, I feel. Direct, personal. Honest. But needing more honing and craft. I’m in a good mood. I feel like telling all my friends how lovely they are. I am rubbing my finger on the outside of my ear, collecting ear wax. Excellent. I consumed a bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino, vanilla. 290 calories. Oodles and doodles of refined sugar. Not excellent. I do the best I can with eating whole foods. My eyes are getting tired. I wonder what about happen if I submitted a piece like this, a ramble. I love this semi stream of consciousness writing, realism, I’m not sure what to call it. Journalish work. The sky is growing lighter and lighter. I am going to be very tired as the day goes on. The question lingers in me, as it has for years and years, of what would I do if I ever published a book, in terms of my parents. Would I tell them? Let them read? Hide it? My inclination is to hide it. What good could come of their reading my work? Very little. Or a tremendous amount. But I don’t have the courage for such things. And also, what would be a good pen name? I like my name a lot, but I think it’d be fun to play around with an alias. And also, for familial protection. My family isn’t the “you’re bringing shame on us” type. (We’re East Indian) (I’m brown). But I don’t think they’d appreciate my airing my/our dirty laundry out for the world. I want to write about my family, about our dysfunctions and abnormalities, so that others may relate and feel less alone. I just want to be honest. The sky is changing colour at a rapid pace. I can begin to recognize the sky as day now. It’s strange being up and out at this hour. Good, but odd. Rekha. I love that name. Rekha Ramambika. But Ramambika is a first name. Rekha Iyer. Works. Rekha Rath. I like that. But that’s a North Indian name, it feels dishonest. The power, though, of a Tamil Brahmin woman speaking out about her life is striking. How badly I want to sleep now. But I need to stay awake, or the whole thing is ruined. I had a veggie burger for breakfast, with blue cheese and grilled mushrooms. I was craving blue cheese. It’s lovely, that moldy mess. Ooo, trouble brewing in the Starbucks. Drug addict? Mentally ill? Poor woman. Some men came in and stole some sandwiches. Only I noticed. I’m shaking again. The streetcars start getting quite full. I just rubbed my eyes very hard, too hard for such delicate skin. I can feel a gentle stinging sensation. Like I’ve irked a nerve.
It is now 9:06 AM. The sun is out, and I am still shivering. The Chapters opens at 10. I will be hungry soon. I should probably just head back home, to the library at school. I am writing my cover letter for the writing program. Oh me oh my.