Today I listened to the BBC. And it was like a breath of fresh air.
It's good to know that the world, the one I know, is still out there somewhere. If you go far enough, you can reach it. If I walked far enough, I'd see your face. What a lovely thought. And also, what's a lovely thought is this: that we all look at the same moon. The same Autumnal Equinox, and that same lonely planet up in the sky. I like that thought. The sky connects us all.
In order to keep from thinking about home, I'm forcing myself to study every day. I've learned the line of Roman emperors from Augustus to Commodus (27 BC- 192 AD), and i've been downloading truck loads of music. And not blogging. I really suck at blogging. Oh, and I have also been studying India-the states, the national language. There's a huge population of Indians here, so i thought it was only fitting.
Malawi has been hot as of late. So hot, that I've given up being "conservative" and gone out in a tank top. I apologize. But my goodness, it's not my fault that Blantyre is a mass of hills, and hot stinky weather. We get stared at regardless if we wear burqas or bathing suits, so whats the difference. Maybe I
m just not a very good missionary.
Anyway, that's all I am going to write, for maybe a few weeks or so. It's getting dark outside, and I'm hungry. Ciao.
Monday, September 27, 2010
a rough sketch
Africa is going really well. After the initial swells of homesickness, third-world shock, and lots of prayer, I think I'm finally settling into Malawi. I like it here, though it's a lot more westernized than I would have expected. (Malawi was a British protectorate, and they still hold onto the old British ways-tea time, round abouts, dressing nicely, saying "fish and chips", speaking proper English, etc. I've apparently found myself in a poorer, younger, African-version of Britain). The city itself is quite luxurious, by African standards, having many internet cafes, restaurants, hospitals, banks, etc. You can find anything you need, for a very, very low price.
I don't know how self-sustainable the country is. Probably not very much. The people don't seem to wish for change to happen in Africa. (Side note: almost every African I've met has never heard of Invisible Children. That's so wild for me to comprehend!). They're all very laid back, and practice a get-it-done-when-I-feel-like-it sort of style. A lot of the internal work that goes on here is done by foreign NGO's, mostly from America and Europe. I've met Germans, Italians, English, Americans, Scottish, students from Harvard, etc all working on constructing and/or working at orphanages, digging wells, doing evangelism, lecturing on AIDS.. It's a very international environment-which is cool. We all have common ground, and it's a source of support. I've especially made friends with the people working with ADRA and Maranatha. It's sweet to see our church at work over here.
The Blantyre Adventist hospital is one of the nicest in the country. It's also one of the most expensive. But it's clean and has quality doctors and nurses all the way from Brazil to the Philippines.
And I teach their kids. The doctor's kids, I mean. My students are mostly missionary kids, ex-pats, and a few locals. They range from 6 to 16, and represent a combination of countries, including: Zimbabwe, Malawi, Egypt, Mexico, Philippines, and Brazil. They're quite a diverse group, and also a very exhaustive one. I love them, but I have to say that I'm learning the virtue of patience over here.
I've met a lot of strange people over here, and have made many interesting memories. I have found that things are a lot alike anywhere that you go. In a way, I don't mind being away at all. But, I have to say, I'm also very eager to get back to school and be the student again.
For now, however, things are good. God is teaching me a LOT about myself and also about life. It's nice :)
I don't know how self-sustainable the country is. Probably not very much. The people don't seem to wish for change to happen in Africa. (Side note: almost every African I've met has never heard of Invisible Children. That's so wild for me to comprehend!). They're all very laid back, and practice a get-it-done-when-I-feel-like-it sort of style. A lot of the internal work that goes on here is done by foreign NGO's, mostly from America and Europe. I've met Germans, Italians, English, Americans, Scottish, students from Harvard, etc all working on constructing and/or working at orphanages, digging wells, doing evangelism, lecturing on AIDS.. It's a very international environment-which is cool. We all have common ground, and it's a source of support. I've especially made friends with the people working with ADRA and Maranatha. It's sweet to see our church at work over here.
The Blantyre Adventist hospital is one of the nicest in the country. It's also one of the most expensive. But it's clean and has quality doctors and nurses all the way from Brazil to the Philippines.
And I teach their kids. The doctor's kids, I mean. My students are mostly missionary kids, ex-pats, and a few locals. They range from 6 to 16, and represent a combination of countries, including: Zimbabwe, Malawi, Egypt, Mexico, Philippines, and Brazil. They're quite a diverse group, and also a very exhaustive one. I love them, but I have to say that I'm learning the virtue of patience over here.
I've met a lot of strange people over here, and have made many interesting memories. I have found that things are a lot alike anywhere that you go. In a way, I don't mind being away at all. But, I have to say, I'm also very eager to get back to school and be the student again.
For now, however, things are good. God is teaching me a LOT about myself and also about life. It's nice :)
a thought
Life is art, completely and irrevocably. Life is our canvas, and our actions are our art. What shall we do with it? We have the capacity of living beautifully. Shall we do it? Do we dare?
I intend to, with the greatness of love and humility, ignorance and bliss, being both routed and lost, decided and indifferent, cautious and liberal, both collecting and distributing, generating, recycling, circulating kindness, knowledge and the art of an individual life, like currency, for the uniqueness of another on their decidedly distinct path. And we shall trade my stories for yours, your experiences for mine, and we shall grow each other, give to receive, give to build, give to shape and create and furnish. Give to encourage, educate, enlighten. Give for love and joy at being alive and free. And receive bountifully in your own eye, the peculiarities of a fellow nomad on this spherical realm. For we are nomads, all of us, and we meant to learn from one another, all the things which are meant to be gotten out of this life. from others, we see places unimagined, experience events once exclusive and now open. All experiences in life are meant to be shared with others, to feed and fuel the race and stimulate growth in the interweaving tapestry of life. And it is beautiful, I say!
The tapestry of life, the interconnectedness of people, place, time, circumstance is both too amazing to behold, and too beautiful to be ignored. We are each other’s burden, belonging to one another, and God is the master weaver, who brings together all things for good. The tapestry of life is gorgeous, despite dark and seemingly messy places. Step back, however, and see how it corresponds astoundingly. You come to realize that all of life is just as one breath; matching and interacting with each facet we humans have structured as something different from the other. But nothing is different, everything is the same, only the representation is slightly altered. Art is the same as math and physics. History is the same as psychology, as religion is philosophy, and that leads back to art, which leads to math, and stars, and photosynthesis, and libraries, and people, and food, and personalities, and culture. It is all the same, except in the symbol and size of it! That is, you study one thing, and you study them all. It is merely up to you to decide which form and measure. All life is the same, yet the differences are displayed by a conglomeration of colors and images. Our senses inform us of the uniqueness and fascinating distinctions in this world.
And it is the free-minded that find it, I dare say. It is the ones breaking the mold of the sociological mores who discover how life holds hands with itself. It is the ones who dare take a leap of difference, for the sake of life itself, and they who behold the grandeur of the unimaginable presentation. Who stumble upon the truth of it while they are lying asleep on the shore of a beach in some far off land. It is those plagued by wanderlust and adventure who stumble upon the mysteries of life. And God bless them! For life is one, and we are meant to find it, through love and breath and courage.
Life is meant to be lived by these simple rules: have faith, have love, have courage, have imagination, and have a good humor. That is all, and that’s the glorious end and beginning.
And may the Lord bless thee and keep thee, may he make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious to thee, and may he lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace. And that is yet mathematics, art, philosophy, physics, psychology and the sunrise and sunset of this beautiful world.
I intend to, with the greatness of love and humility, ignorance and bliss, being both routed and lost, decided and indifferent, cautious and liberal, both collecting and distributing, generating, recycling, circulating kindness, knowledge and the art of an individual life, like currency, for the uniqueness of another on their decidedly distinct path. And we shall trade my stories for yours, your experiences for mine, and we shall grow each other, give to receive, give to build, give to shape and create and furnish. Give to encourage, educate, enlighten. Give for love and joy at being alive and free. And receive bountifully in your own eye, the peculiarities of a fellow nomad on this spherical realm. For we are nomads, all of us, and we meant to learn from one another, all the things which are meant to be gotten out of this life. from others, we see places unimagined, experience events once exclusive and now open. All experiences in life are meant to be shared with others, to feed and fuel the race and stimulate growth in the interweaving tapestry of life. And it is beautiful, I say!
The tapestry of life, the interconnectedness of people, place, time, circumstance is both too amazing to behold, and too beautiful to be ignored. We are each other’s burden, belonging to one another, and God is the master weaver, who brings together all things for good. The tapestry of life is gorgeous, despite dark and seemingly messy places. Step back, however, and see how it corresponds astoundingly. You come to realize that all of life is just as one breath; matching and interacting with each facet we humans have structured as something different from the other. But nothing is different, everything is the same, only the representation is slightly altered. Art is the same as math and physics. History is the same as psychology, as religion is philosophy, and that leads back to art, which leads to math, and stars, and photosynthesis, and libraries, and people, and food, and personalities, and culture. It is all the same, except in the symbol and size of it! That is, you study one thing, and you study them all. It is merely up to you to decide which form and measure. All life is the same, yet the differences are displayed by a conglomeration of colors and images. Our senses inform us of the uniqueness and fascinating distinctions in this world.
And it is the free-minded that find it, I dare say. It is the ones breaking the mold of the sociological mores who discover how life holds hands with itself. It is the ones who dare take a leap of difference, for the sake of life itself, and they who behold the grandeur of the unimaginable presentation. Who stumble upon the truth of it while they are lying asleep on the shore of a beach in some far off land. It is those plagued by wanderlust and adventure who stumble upon the mysteries of life. And God bless them! For life is one, and we are meant to find it, through love and breath and courage.
Life is meant to be lived by these simple rules: have faith, have love, have courage, have imagination, and have a good humor. That is all, and that’s the glorious end and beginning.
And may the Lord bless thee and keep thee, may he make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious to thee, and may he lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace. And that is yet mathematics, art, philosophy, physics, psychology and the sunrise and sunset of this beautiful world.
#3
Last night was the best in Malawi so far. You know, little computer, how lonesome I have been all week here, and how much I would cry at being so alone and sad and anxious. I would wait all day just for evening where I could finally go use the internet and then talk to my mother on the phone. Each phone conversation would fuel my strength for the next 24 hours of no communication, like a breath of clean air before sinking again in a stony mud hole.
But, last night, the light broke through the darkness at long last! This little buoy of life that I have been clinging to in this sea of loneliness has brought me to light, in view that a great ship of joy and company has arrived just at my exhausted self.
I went over to the Wood’s home at 6, and there met an array of interesting people. Dave and Sue woods, themselves, are Americans, so in that I found some comfort. They have two daughters, Janelle, 15, and Marquelle, 11. A small family called the Le Portes, who have just arrived to Malawi yesterday from Mozambique, were also there when I arrived. We later discovered that they are related to the Greenlaw’s by marriage! Isn’t that wild? They are Austin’s step-mother’s family, the grandparents and uncle of Austin’s half-sisters: Eden, Teagan, and Kyla! How bizarre! Somehow, for years, I have been loosely connected to these people, and now, here we are in Africa, meeting. I’m sure his head will spin when he hears this! I mean, imagine finding a connection like that over here on the other side of the world. Anyway, it was a heart-warming thing.
On the spot, when I arrived, I helped with dinner. It eases the mind and the faculties knowing that you are somehow aiding your host, in return for their kindnesses. In time, a group of young people arrived, to my great joy. Most of them work for Maranatha, under the direction of Mr. Woods. I met Krystle first, an Australian girl who works with ADRA here. After her, I met Adam, Moka, Shokina, Brundy (the Le Portes’ son), and then Yann (I don’t think one spell’s the name like that, but that’s how I visualized it-like Yann Tiersen). Yann is South African, and Moka is from India, and Shokina is Indian but a native to Malawi, and Adam looks British, but his parents live in California. So many people! And so lively!
We spent the evening worshiping, telling stories, getting to know one another, eating, and fellowshipping. Again, it was the best night in Malawi thus far. Now I can see a little glimmer in Malawi life that may blossom into something great and beautiful. We shall need to see as time passes. But, today is my first day of church in Malawi, and Krystle is to pick me up at 10.
But, last night, the light broke through the darkness at long last! This little buoy of life that I have been clinging to in this sea of loneliness has brought me to light, in view that a great ship of joy and company has arrived just at my exhausted self.
I went over to the Wood’s home at 6, and there met an array of interesting people. Dave and Sue woods, themselves, are Americans, so in that I found some comfort. They have two daughters, Janelle, 15, and Marquelle, 11. A small family called the Le Portes, who have just arrived to Malawi yesterday from Mozambique, were also there when I arrived. We later discovered that they are related to the Greenlaw’s by marriage! Isn’t that wild? They are Austin’s step-mother’s family, the grandparents and uncle of Austin’s half-sisters: Eden, Teagan, and Kyla! How bizarre! Somehow, for years, I have been loosely connected to these people, and now, here we are in Africa, meeting. I’m sure his head will spin when he hears this! I mean, imagine finding a connection like that over here on the other side of the world. Anyway, it was a heart-warming thing.
On the spot, when I arrived, I helped with dinner. It eases the mind and the faculties knowing that you are somehow aiding your host, in return for their kindnesses. In time, a group of young people arrived, to my great joy. Most of them work for Maranatha, under the direction of Mr. Woods. I met Krystle first, an Australian girl who works with ADRA here. After her, I met Adam, Moka, Shokina, Brundy (the Le Portes’ son), and then Yann (I don’t think one spell’s the name like that, but that’s how I visualized it-like Yann Tiersen). Yann is South African, and Moka is from India, and Shokina is Indian but a native to Malawi, and Adam looks British, but his parents live in California. So many people! And so lively!
We spent the evening worshiping, telling stories, getting to know one another, eating, and fellowshipping. Again, it was the best night in Malawi thus far. Now I can see a little glimmer in Malawi life that may blossom into something great and beautiful. We shall need to see as time passes. But, today is my first day of church in Malawi, and Krystle is to pick me up at 10.
#2
August 4?, 2010
So I am here, on this horn-tipped continent, in the South Eastern section of it, quiet alone, and not a little bit afraid. I have twice walked into town, and both times experienced different, overwhelming sensations. The first was blind fear. The second was a mix of sickly sluggishness and headstrong indifference. My whole day is compiled of doing little things to get me through until 3:30, when I can go to the hospital to use the internet. All day, I have wasted time, filling up the slow seconds with even slower activity, aching for the evening to finally arrive. These days are slow, very slow. All I want is evening, so that I can do my business and talk with my mother via the phone. Her voice is medicine to my quivering soul-it is all I need to get me through this time of sadness. I pray that Cassie comes soon. My depression is evolving into sheer boredom. What can I do? With no appetite, no entertainment save my own mind and this computer, and no schedule to adhere to, what else is left? Today I walked into town, watched Ethel and Shadrac clean my floor, get my phone and number from Elisha, made lunch, read my book, and prayed for evening to be here. My sickness was more intriguing than these slow days. And it’s only Tuesday! It’s only been two days since I arrived here! How can that be? It’s felt like two months. I stopped caring about my appearance this morning, and I stopped being interested in fitting into African society. I’m American, nearly 20 years old, and am hired as the teacher for the missionary children this year. Blantyre is my home for the next 10 months, and, no offense, but I cannot help but wish it along. I crave my mother’s embrace, my home and my things, my school and my friends, my comforts and my familiar foods and places. The warmth is even lacking here. But I suppose this is what every missionary goes through, and it would be unnatural if I didn’t feel homesick and lonely in these first few weeks. I know that as time passes, especially these first three weeks, that I will begin to be accustomed to everything. I know that by the end of this journey, I will be a bigger person.
I think it is less scary to think of coming here as something to just put on my resume. But when you’re coming here because you truly believe God told you to come here, and you’re relying on that say-so, things get murky, and scary. All of a sudden, you aren’t in control, and you’re relying on something so much bigger than yourself. Things are up in the air. You know that by the end of the road, you will be transformed. But it is easier to think that you will just be a better person for it all. So what will it be? Will I be transformed, or will I merely be a well-rounded, well-traveled, well-cultured, and confident person? or is that what being transformed means? How low do I have to go in order to be changed? Can I still be me, with my things and my comforts, or do I need to give up all of those things and find repose in other more puritanical measures? Can I still have my music, my paints, my books, my clothes and still be changed? Or do my personal comforts hinder any changes possible? I think they do not. Regardless of whether I have my things here with me or not, I will still be teaching this year. I will still have to grade papers, teach English, manage bratty kids, buy my own food, arrange travel plans, etc, whether I am given my own comforts or not. In fact, I could be doing the exact same job in Connecticut, and still be changed by the end of it. However, I happen to have been placed in the middle of Africa, with no friends, and a whole lot of fear on my side. I wish I wasn’t so afraid. I think I will be less afraid when Cass gets here. Then I will have a friend and confidant. Happiness is completely circumstantial, I’m afraid.
So I am here, on this horn-tipped continent, in the South Eastern section of it, quiet alone, and not a little bit afraid. I have twice walked into town, and both times experienced different, overwhelming sensations. The first was blind fear. The second was a mix of sickly sluggishness and headstrong indifference. My whole day is compiled of doing little things to get me through until 3:30, when I can go to the hospital to use the internet. All day, I have wasted time, filling up the slow seconds with even slower activity, aching for the evening to finally arrive. These days are slow, very slow. All I want is evening, so that I can do my business and talk with my mother via the phone. Her voice is medicine to my quivering soul-it is all I need to get me through this time of sadness. I pray that Cassie comes soon. My depression is evolving into sheer boredom. What can I do? With no appetite, no entertainment save my own mind and this computer, and no schedule to adhere to, what else is left? Today I walked into town, watched Ethel and Shadrac clean my floor, get my phone and number from Elisha, made lunch, read my book, and prayed for evening to be here. My sickness was more intriguing than these slow days. And it’s only Tuesday! It’s only been two days since I arrived here! How can that be? It’s felt like two months. I stopped caring about my appearance this morning, and I stopped being interested in fitting into African society. I’m American, nearly 20 years old, and am hired as the teacher for the missionary children this year. Blantyre is my home for the next 10 months, and, no offense, but I cannot help but wish it along. I crave my mother’s embrace, my home and my things, my school and my friends, my comforts and my familiar foods and places. The warmth is even lacking here. But I suppose this is what every missionary goes through, and it would be unnatural if I didn’t feel homesick and lonely in these first few weeks. I know that as time passes, especially these first three weeks, that I will begin to be accustomed to everything. I know that by the end of this journey, I will be a bigger person.
I think it is less scary to think of coming here as something to just put on my resume. But when you’re coming here because you truly believe God told you to come here, and you’re relying on that say-so, things get murky, and scary. All of a sudden, you aren’t in control, and you’re relying on something so much bigger than yourself. Things are up in the air. You know that by the end of the road, you will be transformed. But it is easier to think that you will just be a better person for it all. So what will it be? Will I be transformed, or will I merely be a well-rounded, well-traveled, well-cultured, and confident person? or is that what being transformed means? How low do I have to go in order to be changed? Can I still be me, with my things and my comforts, or do I need to give up all of those things and find repose in other more puritanical measures? Can I still have my music, my paints, my books, my clothes and still be changed? Or do my personal comforts hinder any changes possible? I think they do not. Regardless of whether I have my things here with me or not, I will still be teaching this year. I will still have to grade papers, teach English, manage bratty kids, buy my own food, arrange travel plans, etc, whether I am given my own comforts or not. In fact, I could be doing the exact same job in Connecticut, and still be changed by the end of it. However, I happen to have been placed in the middle of Africa, with no friends, and a whole lot of fear on my side. I wish I wasn’t so afraid. I think I will be less afraid when Cass gets here. Then I will have a friend and confidant. Happiness is completely circumstantial, I’m afraid.
this blog may get erased. but first, a few more just to show.
August 2-3, 2010
Last got I had my first experience with food poisoning. It was the most awful thing. After I spoke with Mom online, I was feeling ill, so I came and laid down in my bed. Soon enough, I started to feel extraordinarily nauseous. After laying down in bed for a while, I went to the bathroom and vomited a few times. It was that gross pizza-I don’t think I can ever look at pizza in the same way. After I vomited, I felt a tinge better, and so I took out my contacts, turned out the light, and fell into bed. The problem was that I didn’t have any bottled water left, and I didn’t want to drink the tap. I think I would have vomited again had I done that-just because of the taste and I don’t know if I boiled it good enough. Anyway, I fell asleep very quickly, and for an hour, I was nauseous. At around 7 pm, I got up again, thinking I needed to vomit again. Instead, it was the other end, and I sat down on the toilet. The oddest thing happened then-I became very weak, and I started to lose my hearing. Bizarre! At the time, I had no idea why I couldn’t hear at the present, but I was too weak to care. I went to the bathroom, and while that was happening, I broke out in a cold sweat, but became very, very hot. I peeled off my windbreaker. As soon as I was finished, I think I must have flushed, and then gone to the sink, but my body was swinging wildly around. Before I knew what was happening, my body collapsed under me, and I think I fainted. I’m not sure, but I laid on the tile for probably 4 or 5 minutes, only thinking about how cold and good it felt, since I was sweating madly. And then, as soon as the heat flash had come, I broke out again in shivers, and opened my eyes. Before my eyes, I saw that when I fainted/fell, I pulled the sink with me, and it was dangling upside down. That’s when I knew things were seriously not good. I had only wanted to get back into bed, but now I knew I had to go to the Guarino’s. So, I left my house and rang their door bell, and told them everything that happened. More than anything, I just wanted some water, but NOT from the tap. I don’t care if it’s clean, I am not drinking it. They gave me Pepto-Bismal, and Dr. Guarino went out and got me two bottles of water. Ann had me stay in Bianca’s room, so that she could observe me, and make sure I was okay.
I think I woke up three or four times during the night, and drank some water-slowly at first, and then more rapidly as the night wore on. That really helped. So, I just woke up and I’m not nauseous anymore, just very tired, and a little dizzy still. Dr. Guarino said that I got food poisoning from the left over pizza-that explains the dizziness, vomiting, and head ache. At least it’s not malaria. They thought I might have got it since I have so many mosquito bites on my legs. But fortunately enough, malaria begins with a headache and fever. I didn’t get either of those symptoms until after I vomited. So, I’m eating a little now, and then I think I will rest more. My bathroom floor is flooded with water leakage. I feel bad for that.
But I am so thankful that it is over, and I praying that it doesn’t come back soon-rather, ever again. I hope that chapter of my life is finished.
I am so anxious to talk to mom tonight. I am getting my phone unlocked, so we can talk around 4 pm. I can’t wait! It’s the highlight of my day, and of my week. And mom is sending out a box for me, and she’s shipping it overnight, so I should get it either this week or next week. Haha, only in Africa does “overnight” mean about 4-8 days.
Okay, I am going now. Good bye.
Last got I had my first experience with food poisoning. It was the most awful thing. After I spoke with Mom online, I was feeling ill, so I came and laid down in my bed. Soon enough, I started to feel extraordinarily nauseous. After laying down in bed for a while, I went to the bathroom and vomited a few times. It was that gross pizza-I don’t think I can ever look at pizza in the same way. After I vomited, I felt a tinge better, and so I took out my contacts, turned out the light, and fell into bed. The problem was that I didn’t have any bottled water left, and I didn’t want to drink the tap. I think I would have vomited again had I done that-just because of the taste and I don’t know if I boiled it good enough. Anyway, I fell asleep very quickly, and for an hour, I was nauseous. At around 7 pm, I got up again, thinking I needed to vomit again. Instead, it was the other end, and I sat down on the toilet. The oddest thing happened then-I became very weak, and I started to lose my hearing. Bizarre! At the time, I had no idea why I couldn’t hear at the present, but I was too weak to care. I went to the bathroom, and while that was happening, I broke out in a cold sweat, but became very, very hot. I peeled off my windbreaker. As soon as I was finished, I think I must have flushed, and then gone to the sink, but my body was swinging wildly around. Before I knew what was happening, my body collapsed under me, and I think I fainted. I’m not sure, but I laid on the tile for probably 4 or 5 minutes, only thinking about how cold and good it felt, since I was sweating madly. And then, as soon as the heat flash had come, I broke out again in shivers, and opened my eyes. Before my eyes, I saw that when I fainted/fell, I pulled the sink with me, and it was dangling upside down. That’s when I knew things were seriously not good. I had only wanted to get back into bed, but now I knew I had to go to the Guarino’s. So, I left my house and rang their door bell, and told them everything that happened. More than anything, I just wanted some water, but NOT from the tap. I don’t care if it’s clean, I am not drinking it. They gave me Pepto-Bismal, and Dr. Guarino went out and got me two bottles of water. Ann had me stay in Bianca’s room, so that she could observe me, and make sure I was okay.
I think I woke up three or four times during the night, and drank some water-slowly at first, and then more rapidly as the night wore on. That really helped. So, I just woke up and I’m not nauseous anymore, just very tired, and a little dizzy still. Dr. Guarino said that I got food poisoning from the left over pizza-that explains the dizziness, vomiting, and head ache. At least it’s not malaria. They thought I might have got it since I have so many mosquito bites on my legs. But fortunately enough, malaria begins with a headache and fever. I didn’t get either of those symptoms until after I vomited. So, I’m eating a little now, and then I think I will rest more. My bathroom floor is flooded with water leakage. I feel bad for that.
But I am so thankful that it is over, and I praying that it doesn’t come back soon-rather, ever again. I hope that chapter of my life is finished.
I am so anxious to talk to mom tonight. I am getting my phone unlocked, so we can talk around 4 pm. I can’t wait! It’s the highlight of my day, and of my week. And mom is sending out a box for me, and she’s shipping it overnight, so I should get it either this week or next week. Haha, only in Africa does “overnight” mean about 4-8 days.
Okay, I am going now. Good bye.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
commentaries of Jane Eyre
a phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; i must watch feverishly while the change was being accomplished [107]...it is a very strage sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens the sensation, the glow of pride warms it...[112].
i think charlotte bronte puts it quite nicely. 10:07 tonight is my closing and opening hour, when it all changes for good.
i think charlotte bronte puts it quite nicely. 10:07 tonight is my closing and opening hour, when it all changes for good.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
I'm never never never never leaving home again
After 3 stinkin days in the car, we're FINALLY back from the hill country of Arkansas, where we visited my charming relatives. Nothing against them, but that trip is exhausting. Did I mention that I'm never cramping up in a car, eating gross junk food from trucker stops, and staring at minuscule DVD player screens EVER again? It's a promise. An UNbreakable vow.
The End.
Except for the fact that I'll be heading off to Africa in 8 days, and that, too, is apparently an exceptionally LONG trip...ugh
The End.
Except for the fact that I'll be heading off to Africa in 8 days, and that, too, is apparently an exceptionally LONG trip...ugh
Thursday, July 1, 2010
well paid in cash, but also in some conclusions
Nanny-ing is hard work. You have to drive the kids around, make sure they eat, make sure they're clean and happy and on-the-spot, do this, do that, waste all your gas, and walk away dead beat with very little thanks, and a lot to think about.
Today was a first for me-nanny wise. Babysitting is a different story. Taking-care -of-kids-all-day is also a different story. They're separate entities, each comprised of different needs, values, and activities. As a nanny, you become a surrogate mother. And it's really sad, actually.
My charges today were two young, wealthy teens in a fancy-shmancy part of SD. It took me almost an hour to get there, going 80 the whole way to avoid being late. When I arrived, there wasnt a mother to open the door, there was a list, on the counter, of my chores for the day.
So, starting then, I inserted myself in the lives of this busy family and drove the daughter through Pacific Beach up into La Jolla, to a photography shop for her to buy pictures of herself. Then onto lunch at Burger Lounge, then drop her off for her hour long facial, then pick her up, drive over to Miramar(!) College to pick up her little brother, bradley, from his last day of basketball camp. get little brother and his little friend, david, and take them back to the house. then an hour later take Morgan to dance class, come BACK to the house, get my pay check, and split for home. Amazingly, this took about 7 hours to accomplish.
And MY thing is, why even have kids if you arent planning on taking care of them? I mean, I'm a flat out stranger to these kids, yet it's my job to drive them all over the city, making sure their schedules flow smoothly. But really? I just feel bad for them. Where are their parents? Do they ever see them? What is keeping this family together? Their crazy schedules sure arent.
It made me think long and hard about me being a parent someday and how I want to be. I have dreams, obviously, for my career, and theyre big. I want to do BIG things, and go to far off places. But with kids...I would be a pretty crappy parent if i just took off after my wild dreams without them. I remember LOVING it when my mom stayed at home instead of worked. My favorite part of the day was when she picked me up from school, so excited and waving wildly to catch my attention. My heart would peel open and I'd run to the car cause MOM was here, and it doesnt get any better!
I miss the days when she'd be up early in the morning, making my breakfast and packing my lunch. now she works because it's a matter of necessity, but I cherish those memories. To a kid, your parent is the single most important being in your life. And i was reminded today that that's how I want to be for my kids. I want to be present. I dont want to be so busy that strangers have to take them all over the place for me. What a sucky life.
So, I suppose it comes to the question of sacrifice, and how far you're willing to go. And the more I think about it, the more I see that the most important thing there is is to be there for the next generation. I have a while to think about this, but I am glad that today happened so that i can start thinking ahead of time.
is it too boring to say that my goal in life might encompass being a good parent? I personally think that job is highly underestimated.
Today was a first for me-nanny wise. Babysitting is a different story. Taking-care -of-kids-all-day is also a different story. They're separate entities, each comprised of different needs, values, and activities. As a nanny, you become a surrogate mother. And it's really sad, actually.
My charges today were two young, wealthy teens in a fancy-shmancy part of SD. It took me almost an hour to get there, going 80 the whole way to avoid being late. When I arrived, there wasnt a mother to open the door, there was a list, on the counter, of my chores for the day.
So, starting then, I inserted myself in the lives of this busy family and drove the daughter through Pacific Beach up into La Jolla, to a photography shop for her to buy pictures of herself. Then onto lunch at Burger Lounge, then drop her off for her hour long facial, then pick her up, drive over to Miramar(!) College to pick up her little brother, bradley, from his last day of basketball camp. get little brother and his little friend, david, and take them back to the house. then an hour later take Morgan to dance class, come BACK to the house, get my pay check, and split for home. Amazingly, this took about 7 hours to accomplish.
And MY thing is, why even have kids if you arent planning on taking care of them? I mean, I'm a flat out stranger to these kids, yet it's my job to drive them all over the city, making sure their schedules flow smoothly. But really? I just feel bad for them. Where are their parents? Do they ever see them? What is keeping this family together? Their crazy schedules sure arent.
It made me think long and hard about me being a parent someday and how I want to be. I have dreams, obviously, for my career, and theyre big. I want to do BIG things, and go to far off places. But with kids...I would be a pretty crappy parent if i just took off after my wild dreams without them. I remember LOVING it when my mom stayed at home instead of worked. My favorite part of the day was when she picked me up from school, so excited and waving wildly to catch my attention. My heart would peel open and I'd run to the car cause MOM was here, and it doesnt get any better!
I miss the days when she'd be up early in the morning, making my breakfast and packing my lunch. now she works because it's a matter of necessity, but I cherish those memories. To a kid, your parent is the single most important being in your life. And i was reminded today that that's how I want to be for my kids. I want to be present. I dont want to be so busy that strangers have to take them all over the place for me. What a sucky life.
So, I suppose it comes to the question of sacrifice, and how far you're willing to go. And the more I think about it, the more I see that the most important thing there is is to be there for the next generation. I have a while to think about this, but I am glad that today happened so that i can start thinking ahead of time.
is it too boring to say that my goal in life might encompass being a good parent? I personally think that job is highly underestimated.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Last night
we un-stacked our memories. We recited them in un-alphabetical order, those moments that make our hearts sparkle.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Life is tough
Adventure is the product of a curious mind, and itchy feet.
It is forgoing plans, and simply going.
It is enjoying each moment you have RIGHT NOW, and not looking back.
It is facing into the wind, facing the sun, facing your life-and then diving in full of spirit and no regrets.
And if we try, our entire lives can be an adventure.
Whether through little things or big things, adventure comes with blood and lungs and hearts; it's tied into the package of living, and hopefully we may sprout wings and indulge ourselves in it.
It is forgoing plans, and simply going.
It is enjoying each moment you have RIGHT NOW, and not looking back.
It is facing into the wind, facing the sun, facing your life-and then diving in full of spirit and no regrets.
And if we try, our entire lives can be an adventure.
Whether through little things or big things, adventure comes with blood and lungs and hearts; it's tied into the package of living, and hopefully we may sprout wings and indulge ourselves in it.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
good grief, what is this? poetry?
Hair and wine, happy in le sublime.
Waste and water, mix in uniform shapes
to be greedied into the mouths of the ignorant gluttons.
Gross and detestable hunger, pumping forth brutality
and the gnashing of teeth.
Flies dining and children dying. Or the reverse, more likely.
One happens, thus the other happens.
Things fall in succession, and last of all are the flies. Idiots
with no brains,
who live to carry on the race,
and who die in an irritating buzz; catapult to the earth.
Life given to another generation.
A mother’s spirit passed onto an unknowing child, a happy heart torn by darkness;
a baby’s wail forgotten in blind pain.
A museum of lives, wrenched from the fingers of the owners.
A cemetery of sorrow, the hospital, the jail, the jungle, the novel. With all that is broken,
yet the light is warm,
and the cold is overshadowed by cliffs
of overarching hope.
And the point is this, that pain and happiness are one,
but flipped, like a coin,
by the circumstantial evidence.
And whether the light is orange or blue, exertions and emotions are fingered and felt,
like the wind and the storm.
From body bags comes life.
Thus, thus, the end all.
Waste and water, mix in uniform shapes
to be greedied into the mouths of the ignorant gluttons.
Gross and detestable hunger, pumping forth brutality
and the gnashing of teeth.
Flies dining and children dying. Or the reverse, more likely.
One happens, thus the other happens.
Things fall in succession, and last of all are the flies. Idiots
with no brains,
who live to carry on the race,
and who die in an irritating buzz; catapult to the earth.
Life given to another generation.
A mother’s spirit passed onto an unknowing child, a happy heart torn by darkness;
a baby’s wail forgotten in blind pain.
A museum of lives, wrenched from the fingers of the owners.
A cemetery of sorrow, the hospital, the jail, the jungle, the novel. With all that is broken,
yet the light is warm,
and the cold is overshadowed by cliffs
of overarching hope.
And the point is this, that pain and happiness are one,
but flipped, like a coin,
by the circumstantial evidence.
And whether the light is orange or blue, exertions and emotions are fingered and felt,
like the wind and the storm.
From body bags comes life.
Thus, thus, the end all.
blurbing..more actually summarizing
Africa. The word itself encapsulates mystery. It brings to mind untouched tribes, suffocatingly lush jungles, lions sleeping under trees, elephants spewing river water over their backs in the heat of the sun, along with the everyday danger and adventure. It’s where the wild things actually are. Historically, it reminds us of what a colonized and conquered nation resembles, and the effects are still quite visible. The land is scarred by centuries of warfare, and even now there are areas which are beyond the reach of reason and sanity, caught in fresh combat; where the stench of suffering is rife.
So why am I going to this place? What is calling me to the African savannahs?
Is it too cheesy to say that on March 19th (yes, I actually remember the day-the moment even) I felt God touch my heart for Africa in such an undeniable way that the natural reaction, the only thing one could possibly have done, was to immediately fall into action? I knew that God was calling me to serve in Africa, as soon as possible. Initially, I wanted to take time off of college life and take a teaching position in Cairo, Egypt.
The opportunity came through the open option to take time off of school and “get lost in the wilderness for a while”. In the Bible, Moses wanders into the wilderness, and it is there that he runs into God. The idea has appealed to me for a while, and was rekindled by divine intervention back in March. Unfortunately, Egypt didn’t work out. However, God connected the wires for me to go to another awesome place in Africa; to Blantyre, Malawi, to be an elementary school teacher…for 10 months. Sa-weet!
I don’t know how it happened, but everything fell together-timing, dates, available space, enough money, open arms-and I was offered the opportunity to go with the La Mesa team to gear up for Tanzania (which is right above Malawi, by the way) for the two weeks before my teaching career begins, in early August.
Hands free, without much effort at all, everything was settled. All I had to do was nod my head to God and He got the wheels turning in every single facet. It’s been the most amazing experience merely to watch God work. It has been my pleasure to be working also in Tanzania and I cannot fathom how God will use us, mold us, and reveal to us the ways that we can serve Him during this time. Cheers!
So why am I going to this place? What is calling me to the African savannahs?
Is it too cheesy to say that on March 19th (yes, I actually remember the day-the moment even) I felt God touch my heart for Africa in such an undeniable way that the natural reaction, the only thing one could possibly have done, was to immediately fall into action? I knew that God was calling me to serve in Africa, as soon as possible. Initially, I wanted to take time off of college life and take a teaching position in Cairo, Egypt.
The opportunity came through the open option to take time off of school and “get lost in the wilderness for a while”. In the Bible, Moses wanders into the wilderness, and it is there that he runs into God. The idea has appealed to me for a while, and was rekindled by divine intervention back in March. Unfortunately, Egypt didn’t work out. However, God connected the wires for me to go to another awesome place in Africa; to Blantyre, Malawi, to be an elementary school teacher…for 10 months. Sa-weet!
I don’t know how it happened, but everything fell together-timing, dates, available space, enough money, open arms-and I was offered the opportunity to go with the La Mesa team to gear up for Tanzania (which is right above Malawi, by the way) for the two weeks before my teaching career begins, in early August.
Hands free, without much effort at all, everything was settled. All I had to do was nod my head to God and He got the wheels turning in every single facet. It’s been the most amazing experience merely to watch God work. It has been my pleasure to be working also in Tanzania and I cannot fathom how God will use us, mold us, and reveal to us the ways that we can serve Him during this time. Cheers!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Skip, Hop, BOOM!!!...Africa
This blog is to commemorate a moment. A moment when I was in a puragtory between past and future, but right outside of the present. Have you ever been there?
It's almost like The Wood Between the Worlds in C.S. Lewis' Narnia Chronicles. You're going from pool to pool in that quiet wood, wondering which you ought to jump into. This one, or that..? Should you just walk around with your eyes closed and let yourself fall into one? Because, of course, it's impossible to tell what a world is like merely by looking at its pool (figurative speech of course).
So let me put this into context.
I had put all of my energy and secret wishes into making sure that I could go to Egypt this next year as a student missionary. It was a decision made for a specific purpose: I wanted to live in Egypt. Yeah, it's selfish, and I'll be the first to admit it. The position was located in my favorite area of the world, to teach my favorite subject: History. Could anyone ask for anything more perfect?
And I knew, without a doubt, that I would get this call. I don't know WHERE such confidence came from.
That's why when I got an email telling me that I wasn't accepted, I went catatonic. What? Not accepted? What do you mean, not accepted? I had to read and re-read the email about six times before it clicked. I am not going to Egypt.
I found myself a little peeved. Wasnt this what God wanted for me? I thought I was going on His say-so, and now the whole reason I was going in the first place is deleted from the list. Okay, now what?!
So, I found myself without a place. This is a very terrifying feeling, not to mention horribly confusing. The way the process works, once you're application gets rejected from your first choice, it moves on to your second choice. I hadnt planned for this happening(since I was very silly, and overly confident in getting the Egypt job), and had to very quickly scramble to make a list of other positions I was interested in, in different areas of the world. Of course, nothing else sounded exciting, compared to Egypt.
I prayed so hard about it I thought I would faint. In one morning, I needed to decide where I was going to spend my whole next year. But I had no idea where God wanted me! I was wrong the first time, so what makes me qualified to try again?! I felt like I had to guess where He wanted me, which I hated. It HAD to be the right place, not just a convenient one.
To make this whole situation even better, it was finals week. So whilst studying, i was plagued like nothing else by a crisis which resulted in where I would live, and what I would be doing for a span of ten months. Talk about a headache.
Finally, I threw up my hands and prayed that God would lead me to wherever I was needed. If the first choice was wrong, God, just let them reject me so we can move onto the next. It was the epitome of shooting in the dark. It was me asking, "Which pool is the right one?" and getting no answer.
I ended up chosing three different positions in Africa, for jobs I considered myself very inadequate to fill. One was for a high school religion teacher in Kenya, another for an elementary school teacher in Malawi, and one to be a librarian in Chad. I couldnt tell you which one I wanted more. At this point, it didnt matter.
To my GREATEST surprise, I didnt have long to wait. The very next morning, less than 24 hours later (!), my SM coordinator called to tell me that I had been accepted to fill a position. It was for the one in Malawi, to be the elementary school teacher. What?! God, is this you??
I found myself ankle-deep in a pool.
Honestly, I didnt even know how to react. I hadnt mentally prepared myself to be accepted to a place so soon. I had to keep repeating it to myself: "I am going to Malawi. I am going to Malawi. Yes. I am going to Malawi."
Despite the surprise and unexpectedness of the switch in locations, I knew that it was God pointing me in a direction and giving me every possible sign that I needed. Obviously, Malawi was the spot. Which was weird for me to comprehend. We had studied Malawi in my geography class, and I had heard a lot about it. And yet even hearing and learning about it, it was still the last place I would have imagined myself.
In retropect, I figure God used the Egypt call to woo me into the mission field now(The original plan was to go two years from now). But I think God knows me well, and I realize that mission callings are not meant to be chosen based on the missionary's preferences, but on what is best for the building of their character. I had chosen to apply to Egypt because it would have cool for ME, not anyone else. And that's wrong. I kind of knew it before, but I really know it now. And now that I think about it, I glad to go to Malawi because I know God has something special planned for me there. Like a gift-wrapped present, I have joy in receiving it, but have no idea what's inside. All I can do is trust that He knows me well enough to give me something that will totally clutch my heart.
God works in small, subtle ways, as well as monumental ones. It's the coolest thing to witness it yourself. You kind of have to make yourself stop and consider what just happened. And once you do that, you realize that there isnt any way that it just happened on its own. That was God. It was His invisible hand, pushing along your little life.
God speaks to us each in a language which we understand. Through small signs, to coincidences, to logic, to intution, to moments that seemed insignificant yet altered everything in the most dramatic way. He comprehends our minds because He's the inventor of them. He knows the ways, and plans, and secret wishes of our hearts and souls because he graphed, purposed them, and designed them to love the things which it loves. In our raw states, we are soley the art of God. So I trust Him to know what's good for me.
So, I guess we'll see how it goes. I'll be writing about my experiences in Malawi while I am there. The girl I am going with will also be blogging about it, so you can feel free to read hers as well. You can check the blogs I follow, and I'm pretty sure you'll find hers quick. :)
Just so you know, I expect to come back a different person. And I will go so far as to say that if I do NOT come back a different person, I will be giving up all hope for myself. But there's no point dwelling on that idea, because if anything alters a person more, it's getting that person outside of what is familiar and comfortable and forced to rely upon themselves, and on God.
So, cool. I guess that's all. I had to write it all down, to recognize its worth. In a way, it's being still, and knowing God. It's like putting on glasses and seeing clearly. I see God in my life, working mysteriously under the surfaces. Which is really cool. You should try it sometime.
And since it's big news and all, I figured it was worth a little blog. Plus, I have to remain faithful to this for the next year at least. No slacking. Practice makes perfect, they say.
It's almost like The Wood Between the Worlds in C.S. Lewis' Narnia Chronicles. You're going from pool to pool in that quiet wood, wondering which you ought to jump into. This one, or that..? Should you just walk around with your eyes closed and let yourself fall into one? Because, of course, it's impossible to tell what a world is like merely by looking at its pool (figurative speech of course).
So let me put this into context.
I had put all of my energy and secret wishes into making sure that I could go to Egypt this next year as a student missionary. It was a decision made for a specific purpose: I wanted to live in Egypt. Yeah, it's selfish, and I'll be the first to admit it. The position was located in my favorite area of the world, to teach my favorite subject: History. Could anyone ask for anything more perfect?
And I knew, without a doubt, that I would get this call. I don't know WHERE such confidence came from.
That's why when I got an email telling me that I wasn't accepted, I went catatonic. What? Not accepted? What do you mean, not accepted? I had to read and re-read the email about six times before it clicked. I am not going to Egypt.
I found myself a little peeved. Wasnt this what God wanted for me? I thought I was going on His say-so, and now the whole reason I was going in the first place is deleted from the list. Okay, now what?!
So, I found myself without a place. This is a very terrifying feeling, not to mention horribly confusing. The way the process works, once you're application gets rejected from your first choice, it moves on to your second choice. I hadnt planned for this happening(since I was very silly, and overly confident in getting the Egypt job), and had to very quickly scramble to make a list of other positions I was interested in, in different areas of the world. Of course, nothing else sounded exciting, compared to Egypt.
I prayed so hard about it I thought I would faint. In one morning, I needed to decide where I was going to spend my whole next year. But I had no idea where God wanted me! I was wrong the first time, so what makes me qualified to try again?! I felt like I had to guess where He wanted me, which I hated. It HAD to be the right place, not just a convenient one.
To make this whole situation even better, it was finals week. So whilst studying, i was plagued like nothing else by a crisis which resulted in where I would live, and what I would be doing for a span of ten months. Talk about a headache.
Finally, I threw up my hands and prayed that God would lead me to wherever I was needed. If the first choice was wrong, God, just let them reject me so we can move onto the next. It was the epitome of shooting in the dark. It was me asking, "Which pool is the right one?" and getting no answer.
I ended up chosing three different positions in Africa, for jobs I considered myself very inadequate to fill. One was for a high school religion teacher in Kenya, another for an elementary school teacher in Malawi, and one to be a librarian in Chad. I couldnt tell you which one I wanted more. At this point, it didnt matter.
To my GREATEST surprise, I didnt have long to wait. The very next morning, less than 24 hours later (!), my SM coordinator called to tell me that I had been accepted to fill a position. It was for the one in Malawi, to be the elementary school teacher. What?! God, is this you??
I found myself ankle-deep in a pool.
Honestly, I didnt even know how to react. I hadnt mentally prepared myself to be accepted to a place so soon. I had to keep repeating it to myself: "I am going to Malawi. I am going to Malawi. Yes. I am going to Malawi."
Despite the surprise and unexpectedness of the switch in locations, I knew that it was God pointing me in a direction and giving me every possible sign that I needed. Obviously, Malawi was the spot. Which was weird for me to comprehend. We had studied Malawi in my geography class, and I had heard a lot about it. And yet even hearing and learning about it, it was still the last place I would have imagined myself.
In retropect, I figure God used the Egypt call to woo me into the mission field now(The original plan was to go two years from now). But I think God knows me well, and I realize that mission callings are not meant to be chosen based on the missionary's preferences, but on what is best for the building of their character. I had chosen to apply to Egypt because it would have cool for ME, not anyone else. And that's wrong. I kind of knew it before, but I really know it now. And now that I think about it, I glad to go to Malawi because I know God has something special planned for me there. Like a gift-wrapped present, I have joy in receiving it, but have no idea what's inside. All I can do is trust that He knows me well enough to give me something that will totally clutch my heart.
God works in small, subtle ways, as well as monumental ones. It's the coolest thing to witness it yourself. You kind of have to make yourself stop and consider what just happened. And once you do that, you realize that there isnt any way that it just happened on its own. That was God. It was His invisible hand, pushing along your little life.
God speaks to us each in a language which we understand. Through small signs, to coincidences, to logic, to intution, to moments that seemed insignificant yet altered everything in the most dramatic way. He comprehends our minds because He's the inventor of them. He knows the ways, and plans, and secret wishes of our hearts and souls because he graphed, purposed them, and designed them to love the things which it loves. In our raw states, we are soley the art of God. So I trust Him to know what's good for me.
So, I guess we'll see how it goes. I'll be writing about my experiences in Malawi while I am there. The girl I am going with will also be blogging about it, so you can feel free to read hers as well. You can check the blogs I follow, and I'm pretty sure you'll find hers quick. :)
Just so you know, I expect to come back a different person. And I will go so far as to say that if I do NOT come back a different person, I will be giving up all hope for myself. But there's no point dwelling on that idea, because if anything alters a person more, it's getting that person outside of what is familiar and comfortable and forced to rely upon themselves, and on God.
So, cool. I guess that's all. I had to write it all down, to recognize its worth. In a way, it's being still, and knowing God. It's like putting on glasses and seeing clearly. I see God in my life, working mysteriously under the surfaces. Which is really cool. You should try it sometime.
And since it's big news and all, I figured it was worth a little blog. Plus, I have to remain faithful to this for the next year at least. No slacking. Practice makes perfect, they say.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
for time, for dreams, for faith, for existence
passions, emotions, they take hold, they grab hold.
and i am like one who is held back by the ocean
from pursuing innumerable wonders
that would fill my head with adventures
and my heart with love.
o what a world that we live in!
so beautiful, yet filled with many significant inconveniences.
restlessness paired with impassioned hearts,
and limbs aching for action,
yet constrained by time and space.
progressive anxiety burrows into the muscles that crowd my neck,
and my joints pop as often as i step.
tonight, i am extra everything.
wishful squared and restless.
seeking, longing, praying for differences.
my faith is standing on a thin white line,
barely moving, yet daring to leap.
a little speck, a tiny spark, is all it needs,
to catapult into the great unknown which is our future.
my future.
the one i am waiting for, but not presuming to know.
and when it does arrive, the question is
will i recognize its presence, or
will it blend in like smell,
and simply be another part of me?
and i am like one who is held back by the ocean
from pursuing innumerable wonders
that would fill my head with adventures
and my heart with love.
o what a world that we live in!
so beautiful, yet filled with many significant inconveniences.
restlessness paired with impassioned hearts,
and limbs aching for action,
yet constrained by time and space.
progressive anxiety burrows into the muscles that crowd my neck,
and my joints pop as often as i step.
tonight, i am extra everything.
wishful squared and restless.
seeking, longing, praying for differences.
my faith is standing on a thin white line,
barely moving, yet daring to leap.
a little speck, a tiny spark, is all it needs,
to catapult into the great unknown which is our future.
my future.
the one i am waiting for, but not presuming to know.
and when it does arrive, the question is
will i recognize its presence, or
will it blend in like smell,
and simply be another part of me?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
drawing the line in the sand
I've been studying Africa in two of my classes. It is a privilege and a heart breaking experience to follow its history and see such suffering. Our "world" in america blocks our view of places like Africa, through mind-dumbing activities that force us to think only of ourselves and our lives. But I've come to a simple conclusion and it is this:
the world is a full cup of equal doses of devastating beauty and absolute horror. We must never forget the one or the other. And it’s no use hiding from the horror. It’s as real as the rain; as the nails on our fingers. We cannot shut it out by closing our eyes. it will exist whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, like God.
Therefore, it is better to build our courage now, while we are apart from that evil, than be buried by it in shock and fear when we are finally faced with it.
Ignorance helps none of us. Sin is evil, and evil exists. Don't forget it. But don’t dwell upon the fact either. Recognize its validity and then put it away and engage yourself in the general goodness of life, for there are many, many wonderful things here.
And ultimately, it is the law of the universe that good will always be the victor. So make sure that you are on your respective side, whichever you choose.
Nobody respects an undecided mind. Be of firm belief in what you want-good or not good. Don’t sway in the middle; that’s not an option, and you will ultimately waste your existence if you allow yourself to hang between the two.
If you choose to be good, you must be all good, committing yourself to growing beauty and fostering love in the world. If you choose to be bad, you must commit yourself to that cause, for whatever reasons you may have. You may switch to any side you choose, at whatever point in your life, but you must be certain of your choice. There is no gray area.
So when picking sides, the line is drawn at our feet. and i have to say that ignoring the line equivocally puts you on a side already. it's real, it's sad, and it's ugly, but the only way to make a difference in this world, i believe, is to make that choice, and stick with it. and whether is africa, india, america, wherever, we are called to live out our lives with a strong mindset. lets not forget it.
the world is a full cup of equal doses of devastating beauty and absolute horror. We must never forget the one or the other. And it’s no use hiding from the horror. It’s as real as the rain; as the nails on our fingers. We cannot shut it out by closing our eyes. it will exist whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, like God.
Therefore, it is better to build our courage now, while we are apart from that evil, than be buried by it in shock and fear when we are finally faced with it.
Ignorance helps none of us. Sin is evil, and evil exists. Don't forget it. But don’t dwell upon the fact either. Recognize its validity and then put it away and engage yourself in the general goodness of life, for there are many, many wonderful things here.
And ultimately, it is the law of the universe that good will always be the victor. So make sure that you are on your respective side, whichever you choose.
Nobody respects an undecided mind. Be of firm belief in what you want-good or not good. Don’t sway in the middle; that’s not an option, and you will ultimately waste your existence if you allow yourself to hang between the two.
If you choose to be good, you must be all good, committing yourself to growing beauty and fostering love in the world. If you choose to be bad, you must commit yourself to that cause, for whatever reasons you may have. You may switch to any side you choose, at whatever point in your life, but you must be certain of your choice. There is no gray area.
So when picking sides, the line is drawn at our feet. and i have to say that ignoring the line equivocally puts you on a side already. it's real, it's sad, and it's ugly, but the only way to make a difference in this world, i believe, is to make that choice, and stick with it. and whether is africa, india, america, wherever, we are called to live out our lives with a strong mindset. lets not forget it.
Monday, March 8, 2010
queries and observations of flight
Ah, the rugged body of the land, feathered by trees and carved by rivers, roads and human ingenuity. I spy a popcorn-shaped plume of white smoke looming over a small industrial hell on the river side. The thin layers of cloud dim the view from above, as we climb higher into the emptiness of the sky.
The plane dips, and our gravity is shifted and our brains sink into our shoulders. This thing, this idea, of flying through the air in small metal ships with a body like an antediluvian sea monster, and sturdy wings like a bird, it never ceases to astonish me.
We are now almost completely above the cloud layers, that thick frosting that blankets the land. They look like waves from this angle, like the tide rushing up against grainy sand on the shore.
How can humans put so much faith into these ideas, and into each other? We sit here and read our books, drink our orange juice, remain silent, ignoring the people around us, as if this is what was natural. Granted, we grew up in a world where this is common place, and yet, does nobody stop and question absurdity of human flight? we see above the clouds, where angels and airwaves dance together. we see the sun rise from thousands of feet above the surface of the earth. amazing! Yet i think we spend our whole existences relying on what another person’s faith is, and we never stop and question things ourselves. Why?
Is it our need of conformity? Is it our desire for normality, whatever that is? What is it? why dont we think about these things? or maybe the reason why is that beyond the awe factor, self inquiry doesnt matter?
The plane dips, and our gravity is shifted and our brains sink into our shoulders. This thing, this idea, of flying through the air in small metal ships with a body like an antediluvian sea monster, and sturdy wings like a bird, it never ceases to astonish me.
We are now almost completely above the cloud layers, that thick frosting that blankets the land. They look like waves from this angle, like the tide rushing up against grainy sand on the shore.
How can humans put so much faith into these ideas, and into each other? We sit here and read our books, drink our orange juice, remain silent, ignoring the people around us, as if this is what was natural. Granted, we grew up in a world where this is common place, and yet, does nobody stop and question absurdity of human flight? we see above the clouds, where angels and airwaves dance together. we see the sun rise from thousands of feet above the surface of the earth. amazing! Yet i think we spend our whole existences relying on what another person’s faith is, and we never stop and question things ourselves. Why?
Is it our need of conformity? Is it our desire for normality, whatever that is? What is it? why dont we think about these things? or maybe the reason why is that beyond the awe factor, self inquiry doesnt matter?
Sunday, March 7, 2010
in transit
traveling has this way of wearing you OUT. you're tired, hungry, dry, stressed, dirty and impatient. not a pretty picture. however, traveling could also be an interesting time to experience very interesting things. and as i have just gotten back from break, and spent this whole long day traveling to this side of the country, it was inevitable that a blog would come of it all. so here it is, the events in chronological order.
5:30 AM-mom and i arrive at the San Diego airport. mom almost gets a ticket for leaving the car running at the curb for more than the respective allotted time by an over eager airport security guy in green pants. mom scurries to the car, and drives away before he can pull out his pen. she comes back in a few minutes and we pay for the bags. i grab my tickets from the exhausted, mumbling ticket agent, hug mom good bye, then run inside.
5:40 AM-i arrive at security check and find a massive line. discover that the line is not moving at all, and commence freak-out mode. there is a creepy guy standing behind me, who is literally two inches from the back of my neck. stress level rises more. take baby steps forward.
5:50 AM-find out that the gates are all closed due to security threats. seriously?
5:55 AM-security calls all 6:15 flights to the front of the line. i dash through the people, under arms, around feet, to the front, skidding and nearly slipping and dropping my bag, like in the movies during a chase scene. i make it to the gate at 6:17, and am practically the last one on the plane.
6:30 AM-take off. i meet the girl next to me, lindsay, who's traveling back to texas to live with her dad. i pull out my DVD player to turn on Bones, and offer her one of my earphones to watch it with me. she decides to.
11:40 AM-after hours of flight, we finally land. lindsay and i discover we are both going to the same hanger for our connecting flights. we walk all over the Houston airport looking for terminal B. twenty minutes later, we find it. we hug goodbye. it was a really strange moment, cause it felt like we had become really good friends in the last few hours. it was sad, actually. i guess thats the way it happens sometimes. you make a good friend in a few hours which in normal circumstances probs wouldnt happen. then, you part ways, knowing for real that you will most likely never see that person again in this life. it was really sad, actually.
12:50 PM-my plane and i take off to Nashville. its crowded, and im jammed against a window, doing homework. the woman next to me asked what i am reading. i tell her its a book about the colonization of Africa. her eyes light up. she tells me that its her job to find different books for the university she works at, and she likes the sound of the one in my hands. i cant remember what school it was that she worked for. she asked me if i was a history major. i smile and say yes, i am. she asked me if i was planning on pursuing my doctorate. i nod seriously, and tell her, yes, i am. she tells me that only 3% of the worlds population has their doctorate. i need to keep my focus, she tells me. after that, i formally introduced myself to her. she told me her name was Marsha, and then she gave me a lot of good advice in how to pursue my career, some of which is quite priceless. it was amazing that i was sitting next to this woman who could offer me this stellar advice about my future. it was really amazing actually. she was a cool lady.
2:20 PM-we land and i retrieve my baggage. i had previously decided that i'd wait for Bri to come in from california at 3:30. so, i settle in a corner and watch more Bones, which is a really good good good show, if i may say so myself. at this point im starving. no food since some crappy corn flakes on the flight to Houston. yuck.
4:30 PM-Bri and I cram onto the Groome shuttle, headed for Chat. its the most crowded ive ever seen a shuttle, all Southern students. we stuffed ourselves into the back, with the bad air circulation, no head rests, and elbows poking in each others ribs. talk about misery!
7:30 PM-carsick and catatonic, we roll out of the cramped shuttle and feel our lungs expand like newborns testing out their lungs for the first time. i breathe in deeply, feeling them inflate, and stretch out. thank God for space!
8:15 PM-first stop, Matchu Pitchu, for some take out, combo number 4, the best food in a long time.
9:05 PM-we haul our bags, food, and whatnot up the stairs, into our old room. throwing down everything, i take it all in. what a day! i eat, unpack, relax, and write this.
thus ends a long, long day. traveling never fails to lead one into interesting situations. why should you care? you dont have to :) something about today stuck with me. maybe it was the stress of the airports? maybe it was the friends made? maybe it was the raging hunger all day long? i dont know. it doesnt matter, really. but days like this, circumstances like this should be remembered, written down, so that even if they dont mean anything now, maybe they'll have significance later. who knows?
and after all of this, im going to go fall asleep now. ah, sounds like heaven.
5:30 AM-mom and i arrive at the San Diego airport. mom almost gets a ticket for leaving the car running at the curb for more than the respective allotted time by an over eager airport security guy in green pants. mom scurries to the car, and drives away before he can pull out his pen. she comes back in a few minutes and we pay for the bags. i grab my tickets from the exhausted, mumbling ticket agent, hug mom good bye, then run inside.
5:40 AM-i arrive at security check and find a massive line. discover that the line is not moving at all, and commence freak-out mode. there is a creepy guy standing behind me, who is literally two inches from the back of my neck. stress level rises more. take baby steps forward.
5:50 AM-find out that the gates are all closed due to security threats. seriously?
5:55 AM-security calls all 6:15 flights to the front of the line. i dash through the people, under arms, around feet, to the front, skidding and nearly slipping and dropping my bag, like in the movies during a chase scene. i make it to the gate at 6:17, and am practically the last one on the plane.
6:30 AM-take off. i meet the girl next to me, lindsay, who's traveling back to texas to live with her dad. i pull out my DVD player to turn on Bones, and offer her one of my earphones to watch it with me. she decides to.
11:40 AM-after hours of flight, we finally land. lindsay and i discover we are both going to the same hanger for our connecting flights. we walk all over the Houston airport looking for terminal B. twenty minutes later, we find it. we hug goodbye. it was a really strange moment, cause it felt like we had become really good friends in the last few hours. it was sad, actually. i guess thats the way it happens sometimes. you make a good friend in a few hours which in normal circumstances probs wouldnt happen. then, you part ways, knowing for real that you will most likely never see that person again in this life. it was really sad, actually.
12:50 PM-my plane and i take off to Nashville. its crowded, and im jammed against a window, doing homework. the woman next to me asked what i am reading. i tell her its a book about the colonization of Africa. her eyes light up. she tells me that its her job to find different books for the university she works at, and she likes the sound of the one in my hands. i cant remember what school it was that she worked for. she asked me if i was a history major. i smile and say yes, i am. she asked me if i was planning on pursuing my doctorate. i nod seriously, and tell her, yes, i am. she tells me that only 3% of the worlds population has their doctorate. i need to keep my focus, she tells me. after that, i formally introduced myself to her. she told me her name was Marsha, and then she gave me a lot of good advice in how to pursue my career, some of which is quite priceless. it was amazing that i was sitting next to this woman who could offer me this stellar advice about my future. it was really amazing actually. she was a cool lady.
2:20 PM-we land and i retrieve my baggage. i had previously decided that i'd wait for Bri to come in from california at 3:30. so, i settle in a corner and watch more Bones, which is a really good good good show, if i may say so myself. at this point im starving. no food since some crappy corn flakes on the flight to Houston. yuck.
4:30 PM-Bri and I cram onto the Groome shuttle, headed for Chat. its the most crowded ive ever seen a shuttle, all Southern students. we stuffed ourselves into the back, with the bad air circulation, no head rests, and elbows poking in each others ribs. talk about misery!
7:30 PM-carsick and catatonic, we roll out of the cramped shuttle and feel our lungs expand like newborns testing out their lungs for the first time. i breathe in deeply, feeling them inflate, and stretch out. thank God for space!
8:15 PM-first stop, Matchu Pitchu, for some take out, combo number 4, the best food in a long time.
9:05 PM-we haul our bags, food, and whatnot up the stairs, into our old room. throwing down everything, i take it all in. what a day! i eat, unpack, relax, and write this.
thus ends a long, long day. traveling never fails to lead one into interesting situations. why should you care? you dont have to :) something about today stuck with me. maybe it was the stress of the airports? maybe it was the friends made? maybe it was the raging hunger all day long? i dont know. it doesnt matter, really. but days like this, circumstances like this should be remembered, written down, so that even if they dont mean anything now, maybe they'll have significance later. who knows?
and after all of this, im going to go fall asleep now. ah, sounds like heaven.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Los Angeles makes me
Today, mom and I took advantage of the sunshine and drove up to Los Angeles. i forgot how pretty the drive up was, with the wide ocean on one side, and rolling green mountains on the other. the rain has stuck close to San Diego recently, so the place is much greener than it has been in years. its almost overwhelming.
so, we drove into downtown LA, to the fabric district, our favorite place. mom had a special mission to buy how ever many yards of this one type of fabric for work, so we parked the car and started walking down the crowded streets.
there is a specific place that mom and i shop at in downtown LA, called "The Alley", a literal alley way that was converted into a series of stalls, run by mexican immigrants. the clothes are interesting, cheap, and its always an adventure. usually, we are the token white people shopping there, so we get a lot of attention and calls from the vendors. other than us, the entire place is a little tiajuana. everything is in spanish.
now, downtown LA streets are very interesting. i dont think there are any others in the world like them. its this massive web of thin crowded alleys, lined with thousands of immigrants, selling clothes, fabrics, freshly sliced fruit, sausages and onions, hot burritos, fantas, and goodness knows what else. the flow of people is like a strong, crowded tide, with everyone moving in a million directions. and everyone and their mother has a baby, so you have to watch out for strollers running over your feet, or little toddlers squealing in your ear.
as we walked down the alley, inquring about prices of shoes or dresses, i couldnt help but take in the specific moments. i noticed there was this old mexican man pushing a cart, selling ice cream. the cart had bells on the handle that rang when he pushed it, and they sounded in an old-century colonial way. the music of the bells permeated the air, and echoed through the streets. i really like those bells.
in the crowd of people, there are the mexican girls, mostly all dressed in the same kind of clothes-what we call "chola", a street tough style consisting of solid colored shirts, tighter jeans, addidas or pumas, gelled hair, thickly penciled eyebrows, shiny lipgloss, dark eyeliner, and lips penciled just on the edges. anybody from southern california knows what i mean. there are also cholOS, the guy version. they were baggy solid colored shirts, baggy jeans, addidas or pumas, have usually shaved or short hair, and look pretty tough too. you know a cholo when you see one.
so, we walked with the cholos, and the cholas, and the babies, and the older women shopping for their children, and the ice cream man, and we shopped, got made fun of by people who thought we couldnt understand spanish, making our way in the hot sun all over "the alley" and the fabric district.
its always interesting, a delight to the senses, and a little like a dangerous mission to go there. i felt on guard, needing to look street wise so i wouldnt get blown over by the people around me. but these are the places i grew up in so i dont mind.
its the little things throughout the day that i realized brought the most love about home back to me. like the humility in the eyes of the man selling the ice cream, or the tough cholos standing on the streets (i dont know why i missed them, but this is the only place you can find people like that, and i cherish them. yeah, its weird). i missed the way the sun fades on the ocean, making everything sparkle and shine right before it dips below the horizon. or the view of Big Bear mountain, covered in snow. or the names of the exits along the freeway that i recognize. i know where they lead.
so, so far, my time at home has been busy and beautiful. like a breath of fresh air, i drink it in and relish every moment. i love being with my family, my friends, my cat (though i still havent given the thing a name), my places. i can see that no matter where i go, this will forever be where my heart is.
so, we drove into downtown LA, to the fabric district, our favorite place. mom had a special mission to buy how ever many yards of this one type of fabric for work, so we parked the car and started walking down the crowded streets.
there is a specific place that mom and i shop at in downtown LA, called "The Alley", a literal alley way that was converted into a series of stalls, run by mexican immigrants. the clothes are interesting, cheap, and its always an adventure. usually, we are the token white people shopping there, so we get a lot of attention and calls from the vendors. other than us, the entire place is a little tiajuana. everything is in spanish.
now, downtown LA streets are very interesting. i dont think there are any others in the world like them. its this massive web of thin crowded alleys, lined with thousands of immigrants, selling clothes, fabrics, freshly sliced fruit, sausages and onions, hot burritos, fantas, and goodness knows what else. the flow of people is like a strong, crowded tide, with everyone moving in a million directions. and everyone and their mother has a baby, so you have to watch out for strollers running over your feet, or little toddlers squealing in your ear.
as we walked down the alley, inquring about prices of shoes or dresses, i couldnt help but take in the specific moments. i noticed there was this old mexican man pushing a cart, selling ice cream. the cart had bells on the handle that rang when he pushed it, and they sounded in an old-century colonial way. the music of the bells permeated the air, and echoed through the streets. i really like those bells.
in the crowd of people, there are the mexican girls, mostly all dressed in the same kind of clothes-what we call "chola", a street tough style consisting of solid colored shirts, tighter jeans, addidas or pumas, gelled hair, thickly penciled eyebrows, shiny lipgloss, dark eyeliner, and lips penciled just on the edges. anybody from southern california knows what i mean. there are also cholOS, the guy version. they were baggy solid colored shirts, baggy jeans, addidas or pumas, have usually shaved or short hair, and look pretty tough too. you know a cholo when you see one.
so, we walked with the cholos, and the cholas, and the babies, and the older women shopping for their children, and the ice cream man, and we shopped, got made fun of by people who thought we couldnt understand spanish, making our way in the hot sun all over "the alley" and the fabric district.
its always interesting, a delight to the senses, and a little like a dangerous mission to go there. i felt on guard, needing to look street wise so i wouldnt get blown over by the people around me. but these are the places i grew up in so i dont mind.
its the little things throughout the day that i realized brought the most love about home back to me. like the humility in the eyes of the man selling the ice cream, or the tough cholos standing on the streets (i dont know why i missed them, but this is the only place you can find people like that, and i cherish them. yeah, its weird). i missed the way the sun fades on the ocean, making everything sparkle and shine right before it dips below the horizon. or the view of Big Bear mountain, covered in snow. or the names of the exits along the freeway that i recognize. i know where they lead.
so, so far, my time at home has been busy and beautiful. like a breath of fresh air, i drink it in and relish every moment. i love being with my family, my friends, my cat (though i still havent given the thing a name), my places. i can see that no matter where i go, this will forever be where my heart is.
Monday, February 22, 2010
graceless green hands, brain freeze, and lack of sleep
you know those nights where you cant sleep.
your body feels all heavy and dead, but you're mind insists on keeping you awake with boring, redundant or absurd ideas that dont go anywhere.
that was last night. a pleasure, really.
lately my life style has gone from bad to worse. too much studying cramps the brain, and leaves my body stiff and useless. i stumble and blunder through meal times, in classes, in any situation, chanting text from my history homework, or drawing the number of ATP yielded from...wait what was it again? i dont know, i left my brain in bed today.
renewed promises to exercise have assembled a slide show in my head of all the times i chose not to go to the gym, deciding to pursue other interests instead, and letting me know how bent out of shape i am now.
and little sleep, from all the nights given up to homework, thought, or sheer awake-ness, leaves one easily startled, along with falling asleep in your cereal, and being pretty much unresponsive.
looks like its time for a good breath of fresh air, and a week long break. in california, no less.
they say home is where the heart is, and i say home is where you can relax and be YOU, with no fear, no guard, no worry, no nothing. a little R&R does a student some good, and gives generous time to refill the empty tires of your soul, and the will to go on. its almost like starting a new year, with new resolutions, to be regenerated, and refreshed before you nose-dive back into the former rhythms of life.
home. with tv, and real meat (actually, that treat is under questionable study right now due to a possible baptism into a veggie-sovereign diet. we'll see), plus soda, coffee, and the kick-back-relax liberal-ness of sunny san diego. my gosh, i've missed it.
these past few days at southern have brought to mind the beautiful weather i was raised in. ah, to be home once more. just four midterms, one groome trip, one long plane ride and then..sha-bang. deposited into the arms of family and loved ones.
yes, spring break is a blessing if i ever heard of one. and these graceless green hands, the consistent brain freeze, and lack of sleep are warning signs of an urgent need to do as the summer time suggests, and just relax.
your body feels all heavy and dead, but you're mind insists on keeping you awake with boring, redundant or absurd ideas that dont go anywhere.
that was last night. a pleasure, really.
lately my life style has gone from bad to worse. too much studying cramps the brain, and leaves my body stiff and useless. i stumble and blunder through meal times, in classes, in any situation, chanting text from my history homework, or drawing the number of ATP yielded from...wait what was it again? i dont know, i left my brain in bed today.
renewed promises to exercise have assembled a slide show in my head of all the times i chose not to go to the gym, deciding to pursue other interests instead, and letting me know how bent out of shape i am now.
and little sleep, from all the nights given up to homework, thought, or sheer awake-ness, leaves one easily startled, along with falling asleep in your cereal, and being pretty much unresponsive.
looks like its time for a good breath of fresh air, and a week long break. in california, no less.
they say home is where the heart is, and i say home is where you can relax and be YOU, with no fear, no guard, no worry, no nothing. a little R&R does a student some good, and gives generous time to refill the empty tires of your soul, and the will to go on. its almost like starting a new year, with new resolutions, to be regenerated, and refreshed before you nose-dive back into the former rhythms of life.
home. with tv, and real meat (actually, that treat is under questionable study right now due to a possible baptism into a veggie-sovereign diet. we'll see), plus soda, coffee, and the kick-back-relax liberal-ness of sunny san diego. my gosh, i've missed it.
these past few days at southern have brought to mind the beautiful weather i was raised in. ah, to be home once more. just four midterms, one groome trip, one long plane ride and then..sha-bang. deposited into the arms of family and loved ones.
yes, spring break is a blessing if i ever heard of one. and these graceless green hands, the consistent brain freeze, and lack of sleep are warning signs of an urgent need to do as the summer time suggests, and just relax.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
so far, ive deduced that ideas and emotions transfer from mind to heart to hand to another hand to another heart to another mind
My life is both full and confusing right now.
It is full because of the beautiful opportunities I have in front of me, and because of them, I feel myself growing in countless directions.
And yet, with all of these opportunities, I feel more puzzled than ever.
I am an idealist. A strong one, at that. And as a committed idealist, I am searching for truth. So I look in all things till I can find shreds of enlightenment here or there.
As an adventist, I like to think that I have mostly found all the truth there is, in Jesus. But, I have also found that organized religion can be a bit stifling sometimes. Nothing against my religion, I agree with most of its practices, of course. But I think there are always things that need more looking into, more prodding. Who said we were done discovering all things about God? Did we learn all we could about the Bible back in the nineteenth century when they pioneered the adventist movement? I highly doubt that.
So, I am on, what you would call, a spiritual journey. I am hungering to find truth behind walls of set rules and regulations. I am reading a book by Ed Dobson, called The Year of Living Like Jesus. It’s spectacular. It really opens your eyes to what it would be like to live as a first century disciple, and even more so, like Jesus. Dobson literally lived out the lifestyle and teachings of Jesus, and its amazing to read about. It totally changes the entire way you look at things.
I think I didn’t realize I was on this journey till I actually classified it all in my mind. Once I gave a name to what I've been thinking about and studying, it hit me: Im Searching. whoa. that was weird.
but once you start, you cannot stop. growth never ceases.
so far, I have come to the conclusion that as long as you are following Jesus, you are following truth. and that is a beautiful place to start on a spiritual journey, i think.
But now, my quest is to grab hold those things which Jesus taught, and plant them into my own sphere. Like with a garden, you have to nurture your fragile spiritual nature. In this case, im feeling rather infantile and newly sown. But I like the idea of planting. It deepens your level of understanding, and searching-or being searched you could say (by God).
That’s how we idealists are. We never tire of searching. We are always curious to know more. We search for truth in all measures, in all places, in all things. Art, and kindness, and culture. Science, personality, even math, can be totally revealing of truth. It seems like everything we study or practice is the representative of some truth. So, we have to dig those meanings out, the ones embedded in the grain of life itself, to practice what could be called a veiled reality.
So, as I am becoming more exposed to these truths, and as I decide what I would like to do with my life, and the places I would like to go, I am firstly confronted by the need of including Jesus in all of these things.
I have come to realize that Jesus is my only constant companion, and for that I am eternally grateful. I can never feel altogether lonely on any given day, because His presence is there, even if I cannot see it or feel it.
In my quest for truth, I find that the first step is to open your heart to Jesus. From there, I'm pretty sure you can be lead to wherever it is you need to be.
I’m still learning a lot. Still studying and reading, and praying and thinking thinking thinking. Sometimes I waste the whole day thinking, buried in the recesses of my mind, under the clutter of meanings and information and surgical diagnosis' of what it means to be a true Christ-follower.
And that’s really where I’m at right now. and for some reason, im pretty okay with that. in my objective quest for living a life devoted to Jesus, i know that all these will come in their proper times, and i am content to search and be searched by God. its not even so much searching, but seeking, which is different. searching implies something you cannot see and have no idea where to start looking. seeking is more charted, in my opinion. maybe its just vernacular, but i prefer seeking to searching. i feel like i have more of a set course, not a wild maze of unpredictable options.
but whether it is seeking or searching (mere technicalities of course), i dont plan on stopping any time soon. and even if i find what i think i am looking for, i know that there will always be more to know. again, growth never ceases. so i guess im in for a lifetime of adventure. the very prospect is exciting.
Monday, January 25, 2010
cafe, s'il vous plait
I'm about to go out, for the first time since being in Tennessee, and get a cup of steaming coffee with a friend of mine, tonight. ah, the art scene beckons me. the delightful taste of rich, bittersweet south american coffee is wafting from my imagination into my sensory receptors. mmm, smells good.
It's been a long day, no joke. And one of those dumb long days, when there's just nothing to capture your attention, though there's a million things in your face. I've wasted daylight, lazying about my room, the caf, doing nothing here, nothing there.
I had a dance party earlier, which cheered me up some. works every time. And I finally figured out what an "oligarchy" is. that's about the extent of my research.
Ok, well, I guess thats all I got. Someday, I'll come back and do us all a favor by deleting this more-than-pointless blog.
Friday, January 22, 2010
i wish i could do more than sit and stare
how can i express this properly? how can i say how much i feel, with the limitation of language to stutter my phrases and barricade my vocabulary? i wish language was...oh whats the word...more open? i wish that we could express ourselves through thought and emotion, rather than in the blockish, clumsy word choices we are restricted to. how annoying. but thats a side note, a topic for another time.
so, i was busy earlier this morning. not doing things that i ought to be doing, as a student. but rather, i was kicking back, and eating breakfast and scanning news sites, vimeo, and non-profit organizations. sounds pretty nice. thus I began my day.
however, i found that the more I listened to, and scanned pictures and uploaded videos, the more appalled i became. On NPR, for example, I was listening to Melissa Block discuss the corruption of the bond system in the jails. apparently, the bail bond company keep people in jail (mostly in there for non-violent criminal offenses-stealing blankets, for example) for as long as 100+ days because they cant pay their bail, which seemingly leads to a fat pay check for them. i mean, the bond guy in texas practically admitted it, in not so many words.
as a californian, i am already aware of the jail system crisis, and listening to this new segment on texas frustrated me so much, i skipped out on the rest of the program and went to another news site.
naturally, the New York Times was worse, bringing me updated information on Haiti, about the thousands still untreated and dying. and then of course theres always the israeli-palestinian conflicts, the people still cat-fitting, and fence-hopping over there, to accomplish some agenda or another.
i went to Vimeo after that, watching segments about human rights in Iran. the protests from last year are still getting comments from supportive viewers.
site after site, no matter what it is, there seems to be some sort of unstoppable crisis. invisible children, child slavery, communist regimes, theocratic dictators, oppression, poverty, disease, dirty water, no water, self-mutilation, earthquakes, typhoons, droughts, fires, and it goes on and on and on.
and where am i in all this? eating food, in a temperature controlled room, with a desk loaded with my valuables, listening to music, in my warm clothes. boy, guilt was driven like nails into my heart.
living in america, it seems that we were given the lucky privilege to sit out on the bench and watch everything happen for our entertainment. which, you could argue is great. no one gets hurt. no one you know, that is.
but, for me at least, it blows, because even if i wanted to really get my hands dirty in helping clean up the mess in this world-which i do-i cant. education, monetary funds, timing, it all has to coincide. no matter what i wish i could do, theres no way that i can go off tomorrow morning and help fight for human rights in Iran, or hold a hurting child in haiti, or even stay over night out of my dorm room.
i wish i could do more, when looking at the badness and pain in the world, than sit and stare.
its like your hands are tied behind your back, and good intentions are left to wait until theres time enough to do the impossible. such restrictions are a tragic result of wealth and circumstance.
but i think more than anything, its just really sad to think of so many other people that are hurting, hungry, lost, and...we're here, just "living life to the fullest", and stuff. not that success or anything that we endorse is bad. contrarily, i believe that we should really do the best we can with the blessings God has given us. but to forget our brothers and sisters while keeping our focus on ourselves, and money and other stuff like that, thats where we have to be careful.
this is just a quiet, disappointing rant. nothing that will change lives or anything. i just wish that we could do something more than watch the news, or give money to charity, to feel like we've partaken in the happenings of the world.
Monday, January 18, 2010
today is the day when i am content to do no more
I cradle of cup of hot tea in my hands. It is scalding, so I set it down on my desk. Today, at this moment, I feel articulately accomplished. I have finished my tough work, and the sunshine is sluicing through that clear square mounted on my wall, massaging the carpet and my homework and the coverlets.
It is simply a fascinating culture. I learned that a lot of samuari’s practiced homosexuality-which was an okay thing in Japan for a long time, I guess, and that China held Europe by the nose rings in trade, even when the Dutch and British were docked in their harbors and practically bribing, begging and manipulating to get their resources. I learned about paupers becoming emporeres, about how the Ming soldiers actually opened the gates in The Great Wall for the Manchu invaders because they were so fed up with their own government, and how one emporer in Japan ruled that government officials could only live at home every other year, and that poorer people were restricted from traveling unless they had permission.
A lot of parents practiced infanticide because it was too economically burdensome to have a large family. You know, they actually built The Great Wall because they couldn't think of any other way to keep out foreign armies. It was a back up plan. Weird, huh?
Now I am listening to acoustic music, sipping my hot tea, and just breathing deeply. My body feels calmed, relaxed, happy. I feel like I am positively glowing, content with being mute, absorbing the world around me in a digestive manner.
And I am content to do no more.
Today has been a good day.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Blog #7: These blogs are not so much blogs
there is a certain satisfaction that comes to ones heart when you are underneath the stars. whether all alone or in a circle of many, the peace that comes with the quiet sense of the infinite is immutable. there is the undeniable feeling of both security and vulnerability as you gaze at the blue-black sky and the innumerable stars and illustrious planets. there is the sense that there is more. so much more than cant even be discovered by NASA, only by thought and instinct. the halcyon of the heavens stares at us at night, challenging our noisy lives, whether we remember to acknowledge it or not. and it sheds a calm. that no matter what is going on, locking your eyes on the stars, on God's own handiwork, irradiates a serenity and relieves an unspeakable tension from our shoulders. to look at the sky, just once a day, for a minute in the least, pulls you out of your daily life and all of its troubles and opens you up to something bigger than you, than me, than everything.
Blog #6: Growth
Letting go of the old and grabbing on to the new is quite possibly the most beautiful verb in the
world. it signifies a change and an acceptance; a willingness to move forward and not back; a
readiness to take chances and become exposed and uncomfortably vulnerable. it moves you out
of your comfort zone; out of your daily routines and habits and ritualized lifestyles. it cleanses,
makes you bigger, bolder and more defined than you have ever been. it causes you to weigh
the odds, and then beat them. it forces you to leap over the obstacles of your past and then jump
for your life to catch whats coming. and when its all over and done with, you are new. and you
are you. only bigger, and happier. and though it may seem strange and uncomfortable, it is
worth your while to try. because life is full of changes. and there is no running from them. better
to turn around and embrace it all at once, and learn what you can.
Blog #5: Thoughts on love
Why does God make us to love? Because He loves?
Love is what encircles us, purifies us, prolongs us, warms us, generates, motivates, pulls, pushes, humbles, creates, rewards, takes care of, fills, and connects us all. Love unifies us. Love is the life blood of the universe. Faith, hope, strength, everything we've ever heard of or experienced is founded upon, or because of, love. It's what moves us. It's what illuminates us. And it is what makes the sun keep rising and setting. Without love, there is no such thing as freedom; there is no such thing as life.
Why does God make us to love? Because He is LOVE, and we are little pieces of His heart. There cannot abide a human being that was not formed out of love.
Love is tricky, but it is our sustainer, our savior, our redemption, our second chance. Because of love, we are what we are. And so, we are called to share love with each other. And since that seems to be the clay that made us, and the cord that connects us, love is something that is very EASY to share. Everyone gets it. It makes sense.
"Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God"
1 John 4:7
Blog #4: We should all be more like rocks
A friend and I held a debate last night about the pros and cons of being a rock-both metaphorically, and literally. Yes, I am aware that that is a strange topic to discuss. But in some ways it was incredibly insightful.
He held the belief that being a rock would suck. Period. Arguing that they are continually stepped on, have no one to care for them, have no legs to stand on, or arms to catch them when they are falling, and are taken advantage of. He does make a few points, I admit.
I, on the other hand, disagreed, and defended the glories of being such an overlooked item on the earth.
Here's my defense. Let's see what you think by the end of this.
Rocks are the strength of the land. They are what shape and mold the formations of the earth. Big or small, they are strong and powerful. Rocks are stable, and useful. And they, no matter if they are taken advantage of, respect their place in life. As humans, we build off of rocks (the wise man built his house upon the rock, remember) and use their firmness to place our faith, and our lives. Rocks are trustworthy.
Also, being a rock would be a humbling experience. Especially those little rocks. They are down on the ground, and have no other choice but to be continually looking up. Which is positivity at its very finest. As a rock, you are not even tempted to look down upon others, because it is virtually impossible. And no matter where they are placed in life, whether in a swamp, at the top of a cliff, or stuck under somebody's shoe, they display a complacency in the continuity of their lives. Positivity is not just being optimistic when you are in a good place. It's finding strength and hope wherever you are at. Rocks are humble.
Rocks are unafraid of heights, or daunting challenges.
Rocks are unafraid of rolling down hills.
Rocks are unafraid of taking down giants.
Rocks are kind enough to let a child skip them across the water.
Rocks are strong enough to handle vile weather.
They are tough.
They are generational.
They are generous, sacrificial, artful, serviceable.
And yes, they may be taken advantage of by those who think nothing of their use and purposefulness (aren't we all?), but they accept their responsibility and are in harmony with nature. Rocks give, and do not expect to receive. You can lean upon rocks, rest in the shadow of them, hide behind them, use them as stepping stones, climb them with no sense of offense. They encourage you to go higher. They are secure. They absorb temperature without hesitation. They are a refuge.
Rocks are stronger than men.
Now how do you feel about rocks? Still the boring spherical objects youve always seen? Or perhaps you feel sorry for taking advantage of such useful, humble things. I do.
Metaphorically, being a rock is a beautiful thing.
So, let us embrace our humanity by being flesh and blood people, by being inspired by the attitudes of rocks. We each have our place in this world. It's time to turn around and take it up in arms.
Let's step into our own skin, and see the world with brand new eyes. Fear is what holds us from accomplishing great things. Rocks are fearless, but are happy to stay where they are. I applaud them for it. But as people, we should tune our ears to change and be who we were meant to be: lionhearted, like those little rocks outside.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Blog #3: I think God can hear me
So, for the past few days, I have been in need of some serious help from above. Literally, I have stayed awake for hours thinking about ways to solve this problem that I have, with absolutely no luck. And nothing helps. Stress, worry, think, think, think...nothing comes to mind. What's worse is that my Bible is being shipped from California, so I don't even have that. The strange thing is, I felt like all I needed was one verse from the Bible, and I would have my answer. Just one verse, and God would direct me to what I needed to hear.
And just when I thought I was totally answerless, I found something. It was not so much an answer, but a note of encouragement.
I recently started reading a book that I had gotten about half way through last semester. It was random and I had definitely forgotten about it until I saw it on my shelf yesterday. So, tonight, while watching a rerun of The Office, I felt a sudden and unexplainable urge to pick it up again and start reading more from it.
I turned off the show, and picked up the book. It's a history book, about the Medieval Age and the Renaissance. Nothing inspirational or anything.
But then, as I was flipping through it to find my bookmark, I saw that there was a note card stuck between the pages near the end of the book. Thinking it was nothing, I pulled it out and was about to throw it away, when I realized that there was on the back of it, a verse.
I started to read the first line, and then my heart jerked. It was Isaiah 41:10, and if you don't know it, it goes like this:
"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I WILL HELP YOU. I will uphold you with y righteous right hand."
WOW! Seriously?!
Like I said, it's not a flat out yes-or-no type answer, but I know that it was a message from God, telling me, reminding me, that He's got everything under control, and He knows exactly what will happen, and that He will help me when the time is right.
It's been a long time since I have felt this kind of relief. It's small, yes. But it commands attention in a beautiful way.
So maybe I don't have my answer now. But I have a God who will help me, and who hasn't forgotten about me. And you know what? I believe that was EXACTLY what I needed to hear right now. It reminds me that God is not Santa Clause who you can chuck a wish list at and wait it out till everything I want comes down the chimney in a red velvet sack. No.
More than answers, I believe that God wants us to trust Him to know what's best for us, and be content with being answerless.
So, I am content. And I'm thinking that tonight, I'll be getting some good sleep. :)
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Blog #2: First day of school!
I feel like a little kid again, excited for the first day of school. Seriously, last night I couldn't sleep, and this morning I've woken up entirely too early. What's the deal? Well, if we were using analogies, community college is like fallen earth, and Southern is heaven. It's good to be back :)
It's funny how things just start moving so quickly. I come back after 9 months or something wild like that, and no one misses a beat. It's like I never left at all. Only at Southern, seriously. Things have just been busy, busy, busy. But that's college for you, I suppose.
Hmm, I'm running out of time. Class in a couple minutes! Oh no! I'll have to finish this one later. Ciao
****
This cold weather is absolutely killer. I was listening to NPR and they specifically mentioned Tennessee in their reports. Jack Spear was telling us listeners that "many farmers are concerned about their tomato plants being destroyed by the devestatingly low numbers on the thermometer"...or something like that. Impressive.
So, its not a wonder to see fellow students bundled up to the tree tops to avoid losing their limbs to frost bite. As I was coming back to the dorm from my history class in Brock, I was considering whether I would make it to the dorm still alive.
Luckily, I did. ;)
So, officially, the first day is done. You can almost feel the anxious anticipation of homework and lab work looming over the heads of both the school and the students. But what am I doing? I should be studying. Peace out.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Blog #1: These last few months
I cannot express how thrilled I am to be returning to Southern. I wonder if my old life will pick up where I left it, back at Southern. Maybe, maybe not. A lot has changed since then. Nine months of being home, with all that happened (i.e. feeding America, art class, community college, working, the hair cut incident, Elias’ unexpected death and the funeral and all the stuff that is attached to tragedy, and youth events that are constantly unfurling themselves), well, it changes you.
I would never have willingly chosen to remain at home for so long, yet God has a way of deciding things for you, without your knowledge or consent. However, I cannot help but see that had I been at Southern this semester, I would have most certainly missed out on many individual experiences that would be so insignificant if simply told to me as a story. If I had missed Elias’ last few weeks, his unforseen death, his solemn burial, and how close it brought the rest of us to each other in our broken heartedness, I would have been doubly devastated. Our hearts have gone through such a roller coaster, and there are things that happened that I could not even fully relate to other people. You would have had to have been there to understand.
My roommate called me the day after Elias died, and I tried to tell her what had happened in a mature way. But I utterly failed, and broke down over the phone. There were times when I had to put the phone down and walk away from it, I was sobbing so uncontrollably. Then, when I could breathe, I would pick it up and continue. But it was a difficult task. And it was difficult for her, as well. Bri, who has never had a real-life tragedy, hardly knew what to say. Who would? I knew that she felt my pain, but not in the way that broke her heart like it did mine. What do you say when your friend breaks down over the phone to you about someone you never knew? After a while, there was nothing more one could say. So, we got off the phone.
After, I dreamed of Elias, a few times here and there. And, unfailingly, when we were altogether, he would be brought up. And even if he was mentioned in a positive way that made us laugh in rememberance, always a silence would fall over us. The strength of fresh and painful memories would wash over us and send us spiraling into our own minds, each person reliving some part of the horror of the past few weeks. Literally, we would forget each other, standing in a circle, and whatever we had been talking about before.
For me, all I would see is his face the last time I saw him, pressed against the pillow in the ICU wing of the hospital; where you were only supposed to be if you were old and have lived a long, full life. Teenagers were not supposed to be in that wing. It’s against the rules of living.
Elias’ eyes were closed, but they fluttered every now and then, like he was dreaming. I liked to think that he was dreaming of good things that made his heart fly. Maybe God was speaking to him. Maybe he was thinking about his mom, who’s unshakeable faith strengthened us all. Anything but the blackness that death brings. I prayed to God that he somehow knew that we were there with him, loving him, crying for him.
His breaths were deep and sporadic, and it frightened me when the machine forced his lungs to open and breathe deeply. His hair was long, overlooked after weeks in the hospital. It had been almost a month. Can you imagine how awful that would be, to spend your last four weeks of life in a hard hospital bed with no one able to understand why your body is failing you, and nothing to do but hope and wait while your given shots and medications and tests and lotions to rub over your body because there was nothing else to do?
Elias got his letter of acceptance into the air force with a four year
scholarship, the friday after he died. If it was my choice, during his last few weeks, I would have put him in a plane, and let him fly it around for two days straight. He would be allowed to go wherever he wanted. Then, I would give him the ability to fly all on his own, without the help of technology or aerodynamics. He would be like a bird, or batman, and he could do whatever he wanted. That’s all he wanted to do, really. Just fly. But death is not so kind as to allow you to choose how you spend your last few moments. It has a plan of its own, which is always much harder.
A white blanket was pulled up to his chin. We shuffled into the tiny room. There was only the machine, and the bed that cradled Elias. Holding hands, the twelve of us tried to sing to him a song about heaven and God and how great things will be someday. Katie kept us on tune, but we could barely keep up with it for how hard we sobbed into each other’s shoulders. We tried to hold out and be strong while his dad spoke to us about God and life. But all I could pay attention to was the way he kept stroking Elias’ black hair. He was so strong, not crying at all. But you could see the pain locked in his eyes, heard it seeping out through his words. Then Maggie, our youth pastor, prayed, and she sobbed in the middle of it, and we waited, weeping, until she could draw up enough breath to finish.
And then our time was up.
Let me say that I have never been upset or disappointed with God that Elias was taken in such a way. My pain was more undirected, disseminating over everything without an appropriate finger to point to anything in particular. I could not blame God and still feel justified. These things just happen. I get that. I understand that through these trials we learn many things, and grow stronger. It creates our character, builds our wisdom. And no matter what happens, I know that all things are for a divine purpose. I also believe that there is something after this life, like heaven. I have hope that someday things will be better. Yet, I cannot pray the same way like I did before. I’m not sure why. Even that is a stretch in description. I can hardly pray at all anymore. It’s difficult to get the words out. I feel fake when I do. And it seems to tap into this emotional fountain that I am trying to get past. Elias is attached to so many heart strings that I cannot think of him without thinking of the things associated with him.
Big blue trucks, black hair, Mexican food, the Spanish language, striped shirts, skinny shoes, baseball hats, running, those mysterious eyes, the beach, volleyball, the night, stars, lakes, violins, ice cream, itchy grass, Sidekick cell phones, batman, laughter, hope, hospitals, heartache, God.
You see, God reminded me of pain. It’s horrible to say that, I know. But you cannot ignore the truth. They say that the truth will set you free. But I feel even more chained by feeling the way that I do. And again, so many questions arise that I feel overwhelmed by the face of them all. Elias’ death is still too much, even two months later. I’m hoping to confront this estrangement someday, when the time is right. But something tells me that much more is yet to come, and I do know that all things happen when the timing is perfect.
After Maggie's prayer, I came to the side of the bed, and leaned over to kiss his cheek, but accidentally kissed the tube that was stuck in his mouth instead. Then, overwhelmed, I fell on someone, I think it was Katie, and we carried each other out, sobbing into our hands.
All of these feelings and memories, so strong, would overtake us in a matter of moments. My heart would sink into a deep, dark place and my whole body would slump over as if a heavy weight had been placed onto my shoulders.
And then one person would begin to cry, small, very soft tears. And then another, the closest, would wrap an arm around them and comfort them with the knowledge of equally shared pain. No words were exchanged. Silence was automatic and preferred. But it would only last for a small time. The time of loud, heavy sobs was passed, and we all knew it. The time of disbelief and total shock was over. And now all that was left for us was the silent paralysis of acceptance and absolute sorrow, left in the wake of such tragedy and devastation. Many of us had never experienced death first hand, and it tore us apart.
I truly believe that we healed each other. We were the balm of comfort and hope that was needed to walk away from such a debilitating occurrence. More than our parents, siblings, pastors, or really anyone, we knew what each person was feeling, and could correspond with such a deep hurt. It was as if we spoke the same language while everyone else was locked out of who we were as a group. Elias was ours, one of us, a part of us. We were like one body, and we all felt the loss of him as if part of ourselves had been permanently lost. It was awful.
I would never wish it for anyone, ever. Not even a personal enemy. Because even enemies have loved ones. And when you lose a loved one, especially in such a bizarre and swift way like Elias was taken, it really sucks the life out of you.
Death has a way of teaching you a lot. Or at least it makes you start to question things that had always seemed stable. It shakes you up, so you feel lost, and totally confused. Where there was once consistency, it is replaced with vulnerability and fear. There are millions of questions that I could ask, where before I didn’t even consider them necessary.
But maybe sometimes, it’s best to remain silent. We all mourned in our own different ways, despite the equality of our sadness. One girl, Sarah, expressed her sorrow through music, and created the most beautiful song about life and loss in a matter of a few days. I swear, you would love it if you heard it. It catches the soft spots in your heart and pulls all those touchy little strings that make you think and cry and feel understood all at once.
But I suppose death is just something you have to chew and swallow.
When we found out that Elias had been taken off the machines, we were altogether. We had gone from the hospital room to the youth room, and had a small collection of pictures and videos we were looking through to find traces of Elias still with us. Maggie came in with a child on her hip, and another pulling on her jeans and told us straight out that he was gone.
The room became deathly quiet, and we looked at each other with such solemnity that was utterly unfelt before. In my eyes, we seemed to grow older in that space of empty seconds.
Like a line of dominoes, some crumple while others are still standing. And the ones who are standing, catch, and then fall too.
We fell into each other’s arms and wept and caught each other’s tears on our arms and faces and jackets. Such pain is completely indescribable.
I later stepped out of the room and called one of the girls from our group, who was away at college. She had missed it, missed the last moments of the life of our fellow soulmate. That’s what our group is; soulmates.
Together, we wept over the phone, unable to speak English.
Somehow, once I hung up, we all shifted into the stairway outside of the room, and placed ourselves all over it, so that each person could reach up or down to another and draw comfort from wherever they were. Together, we mourned the loss of our own. I cannot describe to you what all happened on that staircase. It is too personal. But I can say that I can never look at it in the same way again. It has the aspect of great sorrow attached to it now. Just one more thing that takes me back to Elias.
I began to see Elias everywhere. In the car in front of me at the stoplight, walking on the street, in my dreams. I formed a strange attachment to a kid who sat in front of me in my philosophy class. His name was Aline, and he reminded me entirely too much of Elias. He was tall, Mexican, athletically built, had black hair and light skin, all attribute of Elias. Also, he tended to wear mainly red and blue colors, and specialized in San Diego baseball caps, exactly like Elias.
When Aline wasn’t there, I felt empty, incomplete. I never spoke to him, but I drew so much comfort from his presence. I fell in love with his shoulders, and the back of his head. I depended on them. I imagined he was another form of Elias that was sent to console me. In doing my own psychological analysis, I knew that I was attaching myself to a figure like Elias, because I couldn’t accept his death as a reality. I have no idea what happened to Aline. I never saw him again after that class. But I will always think of him with love as natural medication to my sorrow.
The burial was quick and stinging, like ripping off a band aid. I didn’t cry, though. I thought I was strong enough to be dry eyed. I had spent the last week and a half in black spirits, eating little, and staying up quite late in the nights to document the past events, and to recollect myself. I felt lost.
If one of us, the strongest, could be taken, what was liable to happen next?
So, Elias was buried in a sky blue coffin. I laid four red sunflowers on his coffin, and a letter that I had written to him that morning. It was for closure, but secretly I believed that Elias would someday read that letter. Sometimes, a large imagination, no matter how ridiculous, is a tremendous solace.
I stood behind his parents, and I liked to think that I was one of them, mourning for a brother, not just a friend. I felt that my dry eyes would be helpful for those who felt the excruciating loss more than we did. I never spoke of it to them; I am not sure they even knew I was there.
I felt better after the burial. I felt that now we could embark on the long healing process, where before we had been lobbying in a purgatory of death and funeral. Holding our breath, we continued to mourn for longer than was customary. Yet the circumstances of the death seemed to demand it.
Then came the memorial service, which was the most packed our church has ever been. Decked in black, or his favorite blue, we squeezed into the crowded pews. I didn’t cry (I seemed to have been moving into a state of untouchability-from pain or sorrow or attempted comforting by others) until I was on the stage, singing. This is very difficult: to sing and cry at once. Your voice has nothing to push against to come out. It sort of reaches all the way down to your toenails and gathers the small wisps of strength you have left. And then it rolls out your open mouth, in a gush of noise that is uncontrollable and strange. It was incredibly hard to keep on tune, when all you instinctively wanted to do was wail and sob indistinguishably.
After that, it was a range of hills to recovery. It still is. I still dream of Elias. And when he is brought up in conversation, silence embraces us and our hearts feel heavy and cold. But we have rallied. It is only when we are together as a group, or at church, or when I am alone at night that I think of Elias and truly feel that deep pain once more. Other times, I say his name and graze past the feelings that gather subconsciously without pain. It’s all a matter of how much effort is put into remembering.
I suppose it's like Miley Cyrus says, it’s all about the climb.
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