Rejection

Form Letter. No. E-mail. Formed. Words read. We're sorry to inform you. Full stop. You did not qualify for the Fulbright.

Sigh.

Good thing I received this news in India, while I'm in a relaxed state. Otherwise, I think I'd be crying and bitching and be filled with self-loathing.

The Fulbright

I submitted everything for the Fulbright grant a few weeks ago after months and months at slaving away at the application. Just in case you don't know what it is, it's only one of the most prestigious academic/research grants out there. For U.S. citizens, it's the chance to explore another country in depth either for research purposes or as an assistant English language teacher. I applied for the research grant to go to Ukraine. I've been working on this story and going to Ukraine would just do wonders for it. It's like going to the super spa to get the book going, shaping it up to where it needs to. Of course, if I didn't get it, I would just have to find other means of getting the story into shape. It'll be harder but it must be done.

I've been preparing for this Fulbright for a while now and it even propelled me to start taking my Russian language study seriously. That's one of the requirements - to have a working knowledge of the country's language. My Russian is still bad but I think by next year, if and when I find out that I am one of the chosen 10 to go represent the U.S. to go to Ukraine, I figure I'd have mastered something more by then. Now, all that's left is the waiting game.
It's the time for desperate prayer. Dear God, please please please give it to me. Amen.

Know How To Transplant Yourself

I was just having a fit of the doldrums regarding my Fulbright application. Applying for the Fulbright is no easy feat. It's downright depressing, especially if you're the underdog type like me.

Anyway, I was wondering about what the whole point of going to another country was when I happened to read the words of a dead Jesuit Spanish priest that made everything make sense. And if that ain't a sign to keep going, I don't know what is.

Aphorism # 198

There are nations with whom one must cross their borders to make one's value felt, especially in great posts. Their native land is always a stepmother to great talents: envy flourishes there on its native soil, and they remember one's small beginnings rather than the greatness one has reached. A needle is appreciated that comes from one end of the world to the other, and a piece of painted glass might outvie the diamond in value if it comes from afar. Everything foreign is respected, partly because it comes from afar, partly because It is ready made and perfect. We have seen persons once the laughing-stock of their village and now the wonder of the whole world, honoured by their fellow-countrymen and by the foreigners [among whom they dwell]; by the latter because theycome from afar, by the former because they are seen from afar. The statue on the altar is never reverenced by him who knew it as a trunk in the garden.

-Balthasar Gracian