in time,

everything will be revealed to you.

They asked me, what injustices I have seen- if any. I laughed.

I have seen many injustices in and outside of the UCB community. Nowadays, 

the injustices UC Berkeley staff, students, and workers face have become so 

immense that it is important that we draw it to our attention: maybe the system 

wide UC student and faculty walkout on September 24 will do the trick. 

From the ever-growing dramatic increase in student fees- to the discontinuation 

of cal grants, to furloughs and layoffs, to the fewer resources provided for 

students and the even fewer opportunities provided for UC staff members, to the 

ever-strained UC workers that must tackle more tasks outside of their respective 

job descriptions, to the ICE (Immigrations Customs Enforcement) raids pulled out 

against our UC workers- it seems as though all we see and experience is bureaucratic

 encroachment. All we are experiencing is the privatization and hypocrisy of the 

institution. We are becoming subject to the neglect, the abuse, and the injustice

 of all things Regent, President, and Chancellor-related. We are becoming minions

 in this "divide-and-conquer" plan laid out by those stringing us by a thread from

 above. Top-down, self-interested economic trends have strained our pockets and our

 civil liberties. I have seen injustice in the educational and labor sector.  I 

have seen injustice and dogmatism in the very academic institution that ironically

 seeks to diversify and liberate our minds, so that we are ready and prepared to

 fight the very battles we are facing against the very hand that does not seek to

 feed, but rather poison us.  I have seen many injustices in and outside of the

 UCB community. Some, much less anticipated than others.  ~Romina K. 

life in my little kiosk

There's nothing profound about this post. I think I have mono or the swine flu or some type of dramatic illness. I'm delusional. I'm at work. And I'm in my little kiosk. You're probably reading this because you want to kill time -or me, for that matter.

I'm at West Gate, sitting inside a cozy, heated office-like structure in the middle of a cold, vibrant campus with bicyclists, walkers, scooter-ers, professors, visitors, EVERYBODY passing by.

While the Edward Scissorhands soundtrack was in my background, I realized that life in my little kiosk is blissful. I see everyday human interaction from a booth that allows me to look out into the world without being looked into. It's an efficient stalking mechanism: I get to sit inside, rain or shine, and observe everybody and everything.

And I really do see and hear it all.

I see a campus visitor meet up with her blind date (awkward embrace).

I see the poor, kissass student trying to boost his professor's ego to negotiate a later deadline for an assignment (failed).

I watch a very bad skateboarder, who hasn't been told he's not very good, attempt and re-attempt complicated (but for him, impossible) tricks that aren't simply suited for his novice skills.

And then it gets darker.

I see a student wearing black clothing, sulking and desensitized, mourning the loss of her loved one.

I hear a conversation from a student who has been feeling sickly and suicidal.

But then there are those comedic moments that alleviate the darkness. Moments much like when tourists from Japan pan over their video camera while I give them directions, who ever-so-enthusiastically wave at me from behind so I can say 'hi' to the camera -_-

Most of the time though, I sit and observe. I observe human beings. Their (awkward) interactions. Their conversations. Their eyes. The umbrella they forgot to bring. The torn boot. The short shorts. The crazy haircut. The crazy.

With no insult intended, I feel like G/god. I feel like I'm in the minds and hearts of every human being that passes by. And the observation is but 5 seconds long. Then every story, every conversation, every meeting culminates into a multitude of emotions and events that occur in my life in that 3-5 hour shift. I take it with me, intangibly lock it up into their respective East/West gate kiosk mafia-looking suitcases, and go home.

What's mind-boggling is the fact that I only see and hear half of it, and maybe not even.

Every private story is then unsaid- unheard from my ears and unseen through my eyes. Left as mere speculations from the observations I make from my little kiosk.

So I suppose, life in my little kiosk is life.

That's all.