alexandra-corral

[alexandra-corral]

5 October 2022

Next year goals, a running list:

Leave my job for good, for something better - a new career altogether with more money, more responsibilities, in a city i love.

Find my purpose and calling again, be original, put myself out there more. Stop being afraid.

Become more fluent in French.

Travel more to Asia, French-speaking countries, etc.

Put myself out there more when it comes to dating.

[alexandra-corral]

2 janvier 2022

I’m sitting on an oatmeal couch, with the clear divided middle showing signs of wear and solitude. I’m sitting on an oatmeal couch in an apartment in Brooklyn, which shows up within the lines of Prospect Heights on Google Maps, but the graffitied walls and street art proudly spell Crown Heights. I’m watching the Joan Didion documentary on Netflix, The Center Will Not Hold. I am getting a sense of deja vu because I know I had I watched that documentary before and had a one line reflection, wondering what The Center Will Not Hold means. 

Joan Didion died on December 5, 2021. Her death was more significant to me that I ever thought it to be. When I was studying journalism and reading about the great writers and reporters, Joan Didion easily meant more to me than I understood at that time. I read her major works - Slouching Towards Bethlehem, The White Album, The Age of Magical Thinking - and studied them, trying to find a similar style, writing in this godforsaken Tumblr in hopes of obtaining clips for grad school. 

I’m trying to write in hopes of making sense of how I feel these days. I haven’t written in so long, so these thoughts are extremely fragmented and I know whatever I put on this page right now will not be good at all. 

I was shooting the breeze with my best friend today in lieu of our weekly check-ins. We are both coming off long vacations of sorts so we were a bit drunk on that haziness, reflecting on the past year. For me, I can’t believe I finally left that Capitol Hill apartment and everything it represented for me. But I can’t seem to be fully present in this Brooklyn apartment because I’m terrified about what will happen 4-5 months from now. I scheduled an apartment viewing for next Monday in DC, and Artemis rightly asked, why am I doing this when the root of my unhappiness was beyond my Capitol Hill apartment? What am I doing this when I hate DC?  

This is all I can write now. I’m so tired and I’m trying to clear the writer’s block that has haunted me for the last five years. 

[alexandra-corral]

r; thoughts 2

reverting to the early aughts 

when everything felt both plastic and alive

the appreciation for ‘real’

seems contrived and unnecessary now

a race to see who can manufacture authenticity best

the would-be social stars today, but weren’t back then

now they are heroes and slogans 

what is real and what is performance

[alexandra-corral]

r; thoughts

night runners

I miss the memories;

and the chance to re-create better ones 

[alexandra-corral]

freewriting #2

Sometimes I don’t know how much more numbing, escapist, ambient (as the New Yorker is coining it now) content I can take. Will it be when I finally don’t feel human? I look at everything now with half-lidded eyes. 

[alexandra-corral]

freewriting #1

There is something about those cheesy Christmas movies or shows that elicit memories from all the big moments in my life. This one I am watching right now - Dash & Lily - is reminding me of the first time I fell in love. 

I remember my first real date in New York City as an adult. When I was on the PATH train, I saw someone who I had a crush on from my elementary school Tae Kwon Do days. He was wearing a Spiderman costume, ready for Comic-Con, and he chased me after me as I was leaving the PATH station. It felt like that cheesy Christmas moment. He was surprised I remembered his last name, and I made flimsy promises of getting in touch as I rushed to make my way to the date. I honestly can’t remember that first date with who was my first significant love. I literally have no recollection of the restaurant or borough we went to, or what cuisine I ate. I can’t recall if it was brunch or lunch or dinner. 

I wonder why I remember that specific, seemingly inconsequential moment sometimes. Aren’t you supposed to remember the story of the romance and not the passing in-betweens? Maybe it was that clear transition of one love to another - that clear phasing into something better, tectonically shifting your fundamental core. I long for that specific moment to happen again. 

How many of those beautiful moments are we allotted in our lifetimes? 

[alexandra-corral]

Have you ever had that feeling - that you'd like to go to a whole different place and become a whole different self?

— Haruki Murakami

[alexandra-corral]

Have you ever had that feeling - that you'd like to go to a whole different place and become a whole different self?

— Haruki Murakami

[alexandra-corral]

la fin: 2018

I haven’t done a reflection on past years in quite a long time. 

2018 was a strange year for me. It was a continuation of what was one of the most challenging years of my life, regarding my professional and personal development. 

In my last post on this website, I made a list of all the things I did in the past year and a half, and it’s impressive by any other standard. I don’t feel like I accomplished anything despite having a record year of traveling, spending more time with my family, and having an overall healthier lifestyle. It’s obvious what the issue is, right? I keep putting my career identity before my personal character. More than that, I made my career define me.

Enough of that bullshit. 

2017-2018 was all about just pushing through. It was about grasping for what made me feel alive, even if the moment was ultimately ephemeral (I literally trained for a marathon in six months and dropped all bad food and alcohol - I still don’t know how I did it. Yet I sometimes forget I even ran a marathon). It was about reconnecting with friends and family and realizing for the first time, how awesome my family is. 2018 was about finding a routine in my life and forming better habits, focusing on my physical health, and becoming an actual adult (filing my own taxes! paying for my health insurance! listening to all the news podcasts!). 

I know that I am doing all the right things to be more fulfilled, but I know there is so much more I can do and accomplish. 2019 is about trying to figure that out and become unstuck in every aspect of my life. 

I saw on this website, a much healthier and better way to look at resolutions. It’s about doing more or less of something. For example:

More:

Hiking / Going out for nature walks

Reading (3 books a month!)

Swimming

Sticking to exercise (2x cardio, barre, weights classes)

Treating myself to massages, spa days, pedicures

Traveling around the US

Spending time with my family

Cooking/meal prep

Practicing French

Taking risks!

Actively creating a plan to move out West

Being honest with myself and others

Letting go

Saving money for the future!

Doing things that make me happy - playing guitar/piano/singing, going to concerts, etc.

Less:

Feeling like I can’t change anything.

Drinking

Being jealous of other people’s successes. Their story is not your story.

Overthinking

Shopping

Sugar/Sweets in general

Negative self-talk

I think these are more feasible because they are things I already do. 

2017 was shit. 2018 helped me move the dial slightly to get me going in the right direction. 2019 is about charging forward. I have this thing where I think my odd number years are always terrible, but not anymore - time to smash that way of thinking and believing that every year is going to be the best one yet. 

[alexandra-corral]

on the last year and a half

If I were to list out everything I did in the past year and a half or so, it would look something like this:

Ran the Marine Corps Marathon - my first marathon and it was painful, but I’m very proud of myself for finishing. I now ran every possible race distance, except the Ultra Marathon which is something I will never, ever do.

Participated in the DC bike ride and biked for 20 miles nonstop (the longest distance I ever biked)

Coached girls for Girls on the Run 2x

Saw Oh Wonder, Bob Dylan, Sam Smith, Taylor Swift, Tinie Tempah, J Balvin in concert.

Went to Daybreaker by myself and felt alive! #dancepartyofone

Traveled a lot - Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami, Philadelphia, Mexico, Montreal, and Barcelona/Ibiza.

Drove to Shenandoah by myself (this is a big deal, ok?)

Filed taxes by myself!

Pitched a story to PBS Newshour and while it ultimately didn’t work out, I was happy I did it.

Got a job at the World Bank and met the Will to my Grace.

Interviewed fabulous people for The Last Magazine - Ludovic de Saint Sernin, Rokh, Smallhold.

Started a wellness podcast and then stopped, but it helped me reconnect with a really good friend (Abby!)

Started online French lessons with Jocelyne and feeling more and more confident with reading and writing French. I still need a lot of work on speaking, however.

Quit NBC for good!

Got to the final four for a dream NPR position.

Got a job with Al Jazeera and successfully asked for a raise for the first time.

Had my bike wheel stolen by some teen houligans and had it returned all in the same day (it’s a great story and perhaps one that exemplifies the idea that if it’s yours and meant for you, it will always come back to you).

Saw Crazy Rich Asians three times in theater and never felt prouder to be Asian.

My favorite cousin got married and I used to be afraid about what my future spouse would think if he ever met my family and I came to the realization after the wedding that my family is pretty awesome.

These are only some of the bigger things I accomplished in the last year and I know this list-icle reads like a humble brag, but I did all these things to force myself to grow in a time when all I wanted to do was hide away from the world.

I’m trying to ease my way slowly back into writing regularly because I know when I did blog and journal regularly, I was more in tune with myself and frankly, happier.

[alexandra-corral]

next year travel goals.

Japan, climb Mt Fuji.

Greece, see all the spots Phil Knight went to that inspired him to create Nike.

Vancouver, road trip to Banff. 

Hike the Pacific Crest Trail.

[alexandra-corral]

built-to-spill

Monday, July 2, 2018

When I first moved into my new apartment on Capitol Hill, I premeditatedly wanted to make sure that I didn’t buy anything that contained the slightest hint of permanence. Permanence implied that I would be resigning myself to a city I hated. I first came to D.C. with the intention of doing my time in the journalism scene and then going forth into the world, being the international correspondent I dreamt of becoming.  

Almost three years later, that clearly hasn’t happened and I am still in that Capitol Hill apartment.

When I mean that I didn’t want to buy anything with the slightest hint of permanence, I’m talking about my furniture. And when anyone thinks of cheap, built-to-spill furniture, IKEA, the Swedish home & furnishing juggernaut, obviously comes to mind. 

In the heat of summer, I worked tirelessly building up my blank slate of a room. I bought the cheapest IKEA bed frame and drawers and bedside table, all of which had no finishing on them and were poorly built.

My bed frame had an extra sturdy length of wood that remained and I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out where that piece was supposed to go. I still don’t know to this day.

My drawers were also poorly constructed and I constantly have to align each individual drawer with the sliding pegs along the long vertical sides. 

A $12 bedside table was also bought at IKEA and is the only thing I know will not break. 

My sleek modern looking black & white desk was also IKEA-made, but retrieved for a steal at $20 on Craigslist.

As I said before, this was intentional. An escape plan of sorts. I never wanted to be in the city for as long as I have. Have you ever felt that way about a city and then x number of years later, there you are. 

I believe the adage, “Everything happens for a reason.” I wonder what cruel universal forces are keeping me in a place I consider purgatory. I’m starting to believe that my purpose in D.C. is not yet complete. It’s a grating, annoying sentiment when all I want to do is pack up my bags and road trip to every state in America.

I’m going to tell you an anecdote that you’re going to think is ridiculous, reader.

This year, my face broke out in ways I never thought were possible and it lasted for almost 8-9 months. Only now is my skin getting better, despite more than a few acne scars. I joked with my mother that this the universe is telling me to leave my job and once I finally do, my acne will clear up.

You see where I am going with this? Because yeah, it did clear up, and I am in a much better place than I was before.

I think I have to do something before I’m finally let go from the grasps of this city and I’m not sure what it is. 

[alexandra-corral]

thoughts - 06.10.18

Its disorienting nature was filling the gaps in my head, my psyche, my soul. When other genres aligned too well, I needed something that wouldn't highlight my feelings of inadequacy and mentality of stalemates. I needed the chaos and urgency to pulse through my bloodstream and wake me up.

I don't need a pop song or ballad telling me exactly how I feel. I needed the words that don't make any damn sense. I needed the chaos to prevent me from acknowledging truths.

[alexandra-corral]

un retour de saturn

March 22, 2018

I used to be proud of myself. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and became something I always wanted to be, stemming from something I never thought I would be. I never thought it was impossible for me to be a journalist because I genuinely believed that I was limitless. 

Maybe it was my youth when I was wide-eyed and full of hope. Perhaps it was the catalyst for a significant breakup. Maybe it was because I was surrounded every day by people who believed in me and encouraged me to be fearless. 

I used to think that I was happy because I was so busy. It was an interview here and there, deadlines, events, and the thrills of the greatest city in the world. I thought I would feel that again when I took on a second job as a consultant at a vital institution. 

I used to tell my best friend, who went to Harvard, that consultants are what Ivy League graduates become when they can’t get a real job. The coveted degree would be laughable and reaffirm that I did not have to go to an Ivy League school to make it. And now, three days a week, I am just one of the zombies in the banana-lit cubicle spaces tasked with the mundane.

When I take the metro home from work, I can’t help but feel disappointed in myself, and every day I think the chance of becoming a real journalist, the echelon that actually initiates change, slips away. I’m not who I’m supposed to be right now, and that is what is most devastating for me.

Maybe it’s the Saturn Return. I am not afraid to admit that I read my horoscope. It is ridiculous to think that one sign can represent multitudes, but I like to look at my Aries sign as a map or form of guidance. Aries individuals are seen as influential, independent leaders. They are the change makers and the tastemakers. I like being recognized as someone who falls into those categories. 

Saturn returns are astrological quarter-life crises. This is the period in your late 20s where the universe is moving you into real adulthood. It is a period when it feels like literally, everything is falling apart. My Saturn return supposedly began in December 2017, and I have certainly felt it. I have been pushing myself to do more - pitch stories, constantly exercise, drink more water, meditate - but I have been hit with bump after bump. My skin is the worst it has ever been since I was a teenager. I feel unattractive, and my lack of confidence is disheartening. 

Despite this, I feel strangely hopeful even though there are days I have cried because of one thing or another. I feel like I am regenerating. I feel like my skin had to break out to become better. I feel like I had to feel stagnant in my job so that it would force me to find the opportunity that was always meant for me. I feel like I had to lose someone I loved because the universe is leading me to the love I deserve.

I saw this in one of my internet rabbit holes while “researching” Saturn returns and this was the most comforting message of all: “It might feel like your life is falling apart but if you can trust the universe, and heed Saturn's instructions, you'll ace this. Whatever falls away now is meant to fall away so you can build something much more stable, exciting, and authentic.”

[alexandra-corral]

on cursory thoughts on books read so far (2018)

Sticky Fingers by Joe Hagan (finished January 27, 2018)

Jann Wenner was a genius dick who understood his time and refused to cater to music’s future or genres beyond rock (a fatal mistake) and rather to his own whimsies (which when right, were great). Everything was a business transaction. Wenner did strive to legitimize Rolling Stone to the extent that Journalism 101 mistakes were made (fact check, fact check, fact check, and then fact check again) a la University of Virginia rape story. Hunter S. Thompson, in all his greatness, was also a dick and his relationship with the magazine and his writing felt like - I hate this term - a beautiful disaster. His abuse of the leverage he held for his revolutionary gonzo journalism was disappointing to say the least. Other thoughts:  Jane had everything, but was a slave to Jann, who outgrew her. The turbulent relationship between Yoko/John/Jann and Yoko ultimately entrusting Jann to give John the memorial he deserved in the magazine. A scene I wish I saw in real life - the moment John/Yoko/Jann/Jane were outside the movie theatre after watching the Beatles film, all hanging onto each other crying.

What it means when a man falls from the sky by Lesley Nneka Arimah (finished February 13, 2018)

My favorite short was the namesake. A great flood collapsed the world superpowers (Europe & America) and Nigeria became the center for progress. A woman - Nneoma - was one of the gifted children. She understood Furcal’s formula, a formula that explained the universe. She was able to regulate society by calculating emotional deficits and canceling them out. When she visited a school to talk about her profession, one of the students challenged her (as they always did) saying that what she was doing is wrong because she was preventing what it means to be really human. This instance really affected her and she wept in the school’s bathroom, the questioning girl with her in tow. Are we all really boiled down to an equation? Sometimes that is what it feels like when you remove yourself from the world with the current vice of choice. Her emotional response tells us that no, humans are more than that and that grief should not be contained.

M Train by Patti Smith (finished February 24, 2018)

After reading Just Kids, I thought, Robert and Patti were soulmates and the life she lived with him was probably the apex of living and feeling free. However, when Patti and Fred Sonic married, that exhilaration for life continued in a different way - in the mundane parts of marriage and kids, to death and ends. Patti is a fighter and loneliness doesn’t consume her. Rather she embraces it and rolls with the punches and surprises that become intertwined with her daily routine of brown bread, olive oil, and coffee at Cafe Ino and her fascination with The Killing. One of my favorite parts was when she bought her bungalow in the Rockaways, something that I thought was both expected and unexpected for New York City royalty. When she claimed her house, the moment reminded me of Sandra Cisneros’ A House of My Own. 

Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann (finished March 2, 2018)

The Osage Indians were systematically murdered for their oil wealth. The government belittled the Osage and their intellect by assigning white male guardians to various Indians to control their wealth. Thoughts: did Ernest Burkhart actually love Mollie or did he seriously create a family with her just to follow the contrived plan set forth by Hale and others. Herbert Hoover was an asshole, who despite restructuring the FBI and conquering the stutter (by learning to speak quickly), cared more about his reputation than the agents who did the dirty work. Tom White is the true hero and it pained me to read that agents had to remind Hoover about White. Hoover never acknowledged the case that genuinely birthed the FBI. But the real heartbreak was how the history of the Osage Indians was never really acknowledged and how their fatal stories were lost in local newspapers, hidden secrets, family members, and incomplete records. The Osage people were never given a fighting chance to begin with.

Exit West by Mohsin Hamid (finished March 2, 2018)

Read in one day on an 18 hour bus trip from Philly to DC (#windmageddon happened) The book is about migration in a world with and without borders. Magical doors lead to different countries and cities without being questioned by authorities (if the door lead to the right place). Hamid comments on the the current plight of migrants, who when they can finally cross their own borders, are met with nativists. It had crossed Saeed and Nadia’s mind about whether it was right cross over in the first place. However, there is a refreshing optimism for a world of cohabitation in the end. There were also a lot of mentions about cell phones connecting them to the world, but whenever they looked at their phones, they were stationary. Another thing that struck me was that even though Saeed and Nadia stuck together through their migrations, they ultimately separated. That hurt me so much for some reason. Love really can dry up.  Their circumstances forced them to move and adapt, but they ultimately outgrew each other because of those experiences.

[alexandra-corral]

on story lines.

November 30, 2017

A lot of my friends and various people in my life seem to be going through some sort of break up right now and I want to remember this thought. 

Everything that you’re feeling that day, that week, those coming months, and lingering years after...ultimately become just one line in your story. You have so many other stories to tell and those other stories probably wouldn’t have been told if you didn’t live through the line before it.

[alexandra-corral]

on and on

November 4, 2017

I’m sitting in a local Ethiopian coffee shop on H Street listening to Louis Armstrong and drinking a strong, overpriced brew. A group of French tourists are asking about the tea cakes and the pound cakes and they’re ordering chai lattes. A girl with strong eyebrows and a tall bun is nervously looking around the cafe as if she is waiting for someone, her flaky pastry untouched. A lonely boy is starting East of Eden, with a pain au chocolat and coffee accompanying him. He has now given up on the book and is anxiously scrolling through his phone. It’s as if he wants to seem impressive reading the lofty classic, but he looks pathetic.

I just came from Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church on 2nd and C Street Northeast, right near the United States Capitol. I would go to church there when I could, usually on my designated “weekends.” But I went to church today not for my weekly visit, but to calm my mind.

The night before I didn’t do a good job at work. I’m an assignment editor for one of the best local news stations in the country, in one of the best cities for journalism and politics. President Trump’s Twitter account was suspended by an ex-Twitter employee for exactly 11 minutes. Sergeant Bowe Bergdahl will not be going to prison after deserting his unit in Afghanistan and subsequently being captured by the Taliban in 2009. The region of Catalonia wants to secede from Spain, but the Spanish government ruled the referendum illegal.

Locally, several cars were shot out with BB guns on interstate 270 near Shady Grove Road. I almost missed reporting that news because I wasn’t sure how important it was. A man died in a fatal collision in Capitol Heights, Maryland after colliding his car into a bus traveling in the opposite direction. I’m still not sure about what makes news, news sometimes. I wasn’t feeling good about my job performance and I went home with an unmanageable pressure in my forehead.

I recognize that pressure as a subtle depression forming. Whenever I felt that pressure, I would talk to myself and say demeaning things. “You’re an idiot” is a constant one. Last night, I kept repeating “I want to kill myself”. Lying in bed in the dark, I tried to control that thought by breathing deeply and trying to focus my energies onto anything else. It’s not okay to utter those words. It’s not okay.

I learned today that one of the best souls I have ever known died. His name was Andrew.

Andrew was one of my first friends at News4. He was a fellow New Jersey native. He always made me feel significant in what was really, a lowly job. What he did admirably was turn the job into something that was respected because of his infectious joy and relentless work ethic. I only knew him for about two years, but one of my fondest memories was him taking me into the kitchen after noticing I was about to cry after the manager on the assignment desk yelled at me for the broken printer. I had just worked the morning shift, a notoriously difficult and soul-shattering shift to work. He told me to breathe. Just breathe. He told me not to worry and that he would help me out even though he had to go to the morning meeting. That was Andrew, always sacrificing himself. We had not yet known each other that long and he already acted like a true friend.

I remember the first and only time the original production assistants hung out after our schedules finally aligned. Maddie, Will, and Andrew’s friend Emily, met up at Andrew’s apartment to pregame before going out to a dive bar on 14th Street. His apartment was filled with Saturday Night Live references and he always told me that one of his dreams was to host his own talk show, something many of saw as a real possibility. Together we were all just singing along to the recognizable hits. When someone was drunkenly hitting on me, he motioned with his eyes to go over to him to protect me. That was Andrew.

We grabbed coffee at Eastern Market when his health stabilized many months later. His hair was slowly growing back, and his eyes were less sallow. He looked so happy. I remember us just talking about everything - the job, life, him coming back to work. I was so happy when he said he was coming back. When I saw him at work a few weeks later, I had been working a string of days that left me feeling upset and stressed out. He noticed this and bought me lunch. When I tried paying him back, he returned the money a few days later. That was Andrew. Always giving and unselfish, no questions asked.

I remember this note he sent out on Facebook when he found out his cancer came back last year:

Everyone always asks what they can do for me. I appreciate it - but there's one thing everyone can do for me. Find happiness. If you have it, awesome. If you're not happy, change it. Life's too short to spend anytime not living it to your fullest potential and fulfillment. I learned that a long time ago. That's what you can do for me. Seeing people happy always makes me smile. That's why I like making people laugh. I'm still happy and smiling.

I went to Saint Joseph’s immediately to pray for Andrew. What I was hoping to be an empty church was instead a small marriage ceremony taking place. Despite feeling like I intruded on an intimate moment, I had to say a prayer. It felt cruel that I had to say this prayer on what is the happiest day for most, but I’m sure Andrew wouldn’t want any of us to pray for him in the fog of sadness.

Waking up with even the slightest thought of wanting to kill myself… It is selfish and against everything that I have worked so hard for in my life. Hemingway said "Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another." This is not my end. 

Reaching into archives and finding that note he wrote was a small blessing. Andrew was one of the great ones.