For Cozy-Katz

Dear Followers,

This is the first time I have ever used a relevant opening for a blog post. Perhaps now is the time to break free from my own system. Hell no. I would much rather be predictably unpredictable than be predictably predictable. Any day.
Today was a mixture of happiness and sorrow. Who am I kidding? Today was a complete burst of happiness; the sorrow will come way down the road. Nostalgia will be the death of me one day. Everybody knows that a day filled with SC face-crushes is a day well spent, especially when you have the chance to combine Florence Nightingales and Zealots for a massive push. But SC is for another day, a day when Bangladesh’s demonstration of power will be revealed on the interwebs. All in good time.

Right now though, I don’t really know how I feel. I feel lost, I feel overjoyed, and I feel like a jack-ass. When things get like this my choices usually wind down to (1) watching some High School Of The Dead or (2) writing on my blog. Considering that right now I am in a University of Minnesota lab, perhaps fan service shots of high school girls killing hordes of zombies with kendo sticks and broken brooms is not the best choice.

Now with APCOMP out of the way (http://getchanceandluck.blogspot.com/2011/01/only-ones-who-should-shoot.html) I guess this blog will be somewhat more personal. I guess now would be the best time to do this.

I cannot remember the last time I cried. Granted, when Cardona-san’s room breaks into a frenzy of laughter following a wry comment (usually aimed at Bradley) I can’t help but pass a few tears to match my incessant laughter, but genuine crying is a whole new ball game. Perhaps I had convinced myself that crying was something for teenage girls. In that case, today I was a teenage girl again.

I am an idiot. Whenever I use a 1-minute transformation sequence (Star Driver reference) to enter into nostalgia-mode, I always begin asking the stupidest questions. My confidence goes down the toilet and I begin to question my self-worth. Sometimes I even find myself asking if anybody genuinely values my presence. Once again, I am an idiot.

Today I spent 30 minutes reading an essay. 8 pages. 30 minutes. One time through because two times through became three times through. I was completely thrown off guard. This can’t be right. She can’t mean this. Needless to say, I am an idiot.

I met Cozy at a Math Masters competition in fifth grade (sorry Cozy, I will have to nab pieces of your essay to make this rhetorically powerful). For several years my perception of her was the product of AIM conversations (which she has saved on her computer) and how others described her to me. I would have never known that a “Hawaiian-girl” would completely reorganize my perception of the world.

Cozy has taught me, above all, not to take things for granted. She has opened my eyes to a world in which I am only an observer, paralyzed and unable to do anything. I am so powerless sometimes. She has made me question that which I have never questioned before and she constantly knocks over my card-house of confidence. She makes me worry. She makes me smile. She cleans up the water I spill on the table. She will probably never let my buy her a milkshake to clear my debt.

Thank you Cozy, for reminding me how incredibly stupid I am. Thank you for reminding me that somebody cherishes my presence on this planet. Thank you for reminding me that all those nights working meant something more than a dehumanizing grade. Thank you for reminding me that beneath all of these walls I set up, there is somebody who wants to be the best he can be. Thank you for reminding me that I don’t need to conform or be socially acceptable or politically correct. Most of all, thank you for reminding me to be Naveen, something nobody else can do (f@$% yeah Seaking).

With all of these compliments flying around, many of you may get the idea that I am in love with Cozy. I never really liked the word love. Cozy, to me, is something like a mother, a role model, a sister, a thesaurus, a lean, mean, stress machine, and a friend. I may watch oodles of anime, but even I am not interested in such a thing as love with such a figure. Plus, I would have to deal with scarier-than-the-pope Dawson.

I cannot give you the world (right now, of course), but, as I am waiting for my samples in the PCR machine, I can give you this blog post. Cozy, I once told you that I don’t know what makes me happy. This essay makes me happy. Thank you.

Because I Don’t EVER Want You To Quit,
Noel