Craigs List.
Amusing, entertaining, useful. I have been searching for a serious, full-time job for quite some time. Now, as my internship winds down and I am staring summer right in the eye, I have decided to look at more short-term options. After looking at several reputable websites for a summer job and receiving multiple letters of rejection, I decided to turn to the black dragon, aka, Craig's List.
So much of it you know is fake or a scam, and any smart person can surely tell the difference. While I started looking "just for the craic," I soon found a job that didn't look too bad. A receptionist was need from 12:30-5:00 and needed to dress up. Details listed were answering phones, etc. Now, normally these postings don't say where they are located, for their own safety.
Curious, I wrote them an email asking if I could get more details, such as where it is located. A nice lady emailed me back, explaining the times needed once more, and that I would need to help direct guests, take phone calls, and arrange flowers. I thought this was odd and immediately looked to her signature tag on the email.
She was hiring for a receptionist in a funeral home. I was shocked, and then I thought, well that wouldn't be too bad, I suppose. Then I really considered it. Everyday, I would see a dead body, and I'm not even a doctor. Okay, so even if I could handle that, every day, I would be going to a funeral. Every day, surrounded by crying people.
I shared this with Joe, who had an identical reaction to me- shock, then reassurance that it wouldn't be "that bad," and that "people don't really die in the summer." My humorous anecdote is this: at Victoria's Secret, I also wear black, so there wouldn't be any need for new work clothes!
That was yesterday. Today I received another email from the lady saying that there was an overwhelming response to the position and that if I still wanted an interview, I ought to secure it now. To those reading who are maybe in a different generation, where jobs came more easily, I beg of you to take heed.
The moral of this story is that while the saying goes "beggars can't be choosers," I think that saying is inverted and also causal for me. I am a chooser, therefore I am a beggar. And if being choosy means I hold out for something that doesn't involve death, I think that's okay. I think.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
"Girls" V. 2 Broke Girls
I recently was told I should check out the series "Girls" on HBO. Out of curiosity and faith in HBO I did check it out. However, I did so after viewing 2 Broke Girls: Season 1. I must say that while it is nearly an identical plot, the differences are vast.
You could say that a pessimist would watch HBO's "Girls," while an optimist would 'opt' (pun intended) for 2 Broke Girls.
Over at HBO, there are harrowing similarities to my life and the life of the character Hannah in "Girls." I, too, recently was dismissed from an internship- left with no place to go. Also an English major, also lacking what the world calls a "career path." Similar upbringings and similar parental styles, at that. I was haunted by the script; thinking who has been following my friends and I around all these months, writing down what we say? While it did have a freakishly accurate depiction of a recent graduate trying to make it in job land, there is no doubt it is intended for a voyeuristic audience. No girl, my age and in my position, would put herself through the agony of watching bad things happen to characters just like us. It's like waking up and immediately being forced to stare in the mirror. Everyone knows we'll spend hours in front of the mirror when we look good.
So, we wait until Sex and the City reruns come on after the show and live vicariously through them. Or, we flip the channel to CBS and take a second to laugh at ourselves with 2 Broke Girls.
While it sounds ridiculous, I know I am not the first girl I've heard say this of the show: "It gives me the courage to be poor." 2 Broke Girls is a caricature of our experience, something to laugh at, something to inspire us. At its core, it gently preaches the value of ambition, hard work, and that everything will be alright in the end. While over on HBO, we are watching girls complain about no longer receiving money from their parents, on CBS we are watching 2 girls attempting to make the most of it by working their day jobs, night jobs, and building a dream.
Sure, granted this is a cheese-tastic summary and my praise of a sitcom is a bit disproportionate and grandiose. I'm sure there is a professional TV critic out there who wrote this very review with the opinions reversed. Well, 50-year-old-man/woman, YOU are the voyeur. As for me, the "broke girl," the girl who just got let go from the internship, I'll stick to my optimistic sitcom and indulge escapism.
You could say that a pessimist would watch HBO's "Girls," while an optimist would 'opt' (pun intended) for 2 Broke Girls.
Over at HBO, there are harrowing similarities to my life and the life of the character Hannah in "Girls." I, too, recently was dismissed from an internship- left with no place to go. Also an English major, also lacking what the world calls a "career path." Similar upbringings and similar parental styles, at that. I was haunted by the script; thinking who has been following my friends and I around all these months, writing down what we say? While it did have a freakishly accurate depiction of a recent graduate trying to make it in job land, there is no doubt it is intended for a voyeuristic audience. No girl, my age and in my position, would put herself through the agony of watching bad things happen to characters just like us. It's like waking up and immediately being forced to stare in the mirror. Everyone knows we'll spend hours in front of the mirror when we look good.
So, we wait until Sex and the City reruns come on after the show and live vicariously through them. Or, we flip the channel to CBS and take a second to laugh at ourselves with 2 Broke Girls.
While it sounds ridiculous, I know I am not the first girl I've heard say this of the show: "It gives me the courage to be poor." 2 Broke Girls is a caricature of our experience, something to laugh at, something to inspire us. At its core, it gently preaches the value of ambition, hard work, and that everything will be alright in the end. While over on HBO, we are watching girls complain about no longer receiving money from their parents, on CBS we are watching 2 girls attempting to make the most of it by working their day jobs, night jobs, and building a dream.
Sure, granted this is a cheese-tastic summary and my praise of a sitcom is a bit disproportionate and grandiose. I'm sure there is a professional TV critic out there who wrote this very review with the opinions reversed. Well, 50-year-old-man/woman, YOU are the voyeur. As for me, the "broke girl," the girl who just got let go from the internship, I'll stick to my optimistic sitcom and indulge escapism.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
A tall drink of friendship
While my corporate job has done its best to destroy any modicum of creative spirit I maintain, I do think it is important to write creatively from time to time.
Today, the thought I simply cannot get out of my head is a tall, cold pint of Guinness. Namely, I want to sit with friends for hours at a quiet pub in Belfast and drink 4 or 5 pints of the black stuff. Talking about things like cooking, politics, and just anything that comes to our minds.
While in Belfast, I went out on a lot of dates. While I wasn't interested in them 99.9% of them, (with one very special exception) I think what I enjoyed was just sipping a Guinness that somebody else paid for, listening to, and telling stories with people I thought I'd never meet in my lifetime.
Today I'm craving not only the bitter-smooth taste of Guinness, but I'm craving the no-rush, casual intimacy of a pub. What I want is to sit with someone- an old friend or new- and say to each other, "I am in no rush. Let's talk, I know you've got interesting things to say."
I want to celebrate being excited about something. To talk about subjects not just because we are studying them, but because we care, and because we believe these things matter on this earth, no matter how big or small. I think that's really what I'm craving.
Today, the thought I simply cannot get out of my head is a tall, cold pint of Guinness. Namely, I want to sit with friends for hours at a quiet pub in Belfast and drink 4 or 5 pints of the black stuff. Talking about things like cooking, politics, and just anything that comes to our minds.
While in Belfast, I went out on a lot of dates. While I wasn't interested in them 99.9% of them, (with one very special exception) I think what I enjoyed was just sipping a Guinness that somebody else paid for, listening to, and telling stories with people I thought I'd never meet in my lifetime.
Today I'm craving not only the bitter-smooth taste of Guinness, but I'm craving the no-rush, casual intimacy of a pub. What I want is to sit with someone- an old friend or new- and say to each other, "I am in no rush. Let's talk, I know you've got interesting things to say."
I want to celebrate being excited about something. To talk about subjects not just because we are studying them, but because we care, and because we believe these things matter on this earth, no matter how big or small. I think that's really what I'm craving.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
In the Mean Time
Did you know there are two definitions of the word "Intern?"
a. A student or a recent graduate undergoing supervised practical training.
b. To confine, especially in wartime.
Well, it may not be wartime, but I can definitel say I've been confined in the meantime. And oh, how the time is mean.
I do think that "career path" is a very luxurious term, and forgive me, a bit of BS. I've had little to no choice on my "career path," which has been less of a path and more like hitchhiking. Not to be dramatic (but hey, I'm blogging, so why not?) but this internship has left me on the sketchy outskirts of town, clutching my bag as the bus comes to a stop saying "oh...no..."
I've listened to this poem a hundred times before, just wanted to make a record of it here so I never forget about it. If you haven't heard Bob Dylan's poem about Woody Guthrie, and you've ever struggled, ever, you'll be happy that you did.
a. A student or a recent graduate undergoing supervised practical training.
b. To confine, especially in wartime.
Well, it may not be wartime, but I can definitel say I've been confined in the meantime. And oh, how the time is mean.
I do think that "career path" is a very luxurious term, and forgive me, a bit of BS. I've had little to no choice on my "career path," which has been less of a path and more like hitchhiking. Not to be dramatic (but hey, I'm blogging, so why not?) but this internship has left me on the sketchy outskirts of town, clutching my bag as the bus comes to a stop saying "oh...no..."
I've listened to this poem a hundred times before, just wanted to make a record of it here so I never forget about it. If you haven't heard Bob Dylan's poem about Woody Guthrie, and you've ever struggled, ever, you'll be happy that you did.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Joni Mitchell and Grocery Bags
Here I am, once more, a stranger to my blog. What prompts me to return to this is a definite and sincere feeling of Wanderlust once more.
Today, looking out the window, I was thinking of how I feel like I am being blown around in the wind. No matter what I do, the wind is more powerful than I. More specifically, I am a plastic grocery bag that is stuck in the tree.
I am a source of annoyance to the tree as well as the passer-by. I am not there on my own accord, but rather, time, chance, and weather have happened to me. And here I am, bits of me stuck in a place I don't want to be. Waiting for the wind to blow the right direction to take me somewhere new, or some novelty tree-bagger removers to come and lift me out.
All this might sound a bit desperate, coming from the blogger who -literally- once said that the world is my oyster. Up in this tree I am inclined to feel differently.
I wonder what advice I'd give the bag. It's probably the advice most people tell me these days- "Hang in there." It's boderline offensive when all I can do is indeed, hang in here.
I know one thing: that all of a sudden, your life can change. It's my hope that the wind will soon carry me. I'm always thinking of Joni Mitchell songs nowadays (Let the wind carry me, for one). Mostly it's "Both Sides Now." Let's post my favorite verse:
Tears and fears and feeling proud
to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds,
I've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange,
they shake their heads,
they say I've changed.
Something's lost
but something's gained in living every day.
I think Joni must have been 23 when she wrote this song. I remember these blogs having an optimistic ending, but I'm afraid all I can say now is that even though I don't believe my upcoming change will be easy, I do have faith that it will happen. And I think that's something.
I am a source of annoyance to the tree as well as the passer-by. I am not there on my own accord, but rather, time, chance, and weather have happened to me. And here I am, bits of me stuck in a place I don't want to be. Waiting for the wind to blow the right direction to take me somewhere new, or some novelty tree-bagger removers to come and lift me out.
All this might sound a bit desperate, coming from the blogger who -literally- once said that the world is my oyster. Up in this tree I am inclined to feel differently.
I wonder what advice I'd give the bag. It's probably the advice most people tell me these days- "Hang in there." It's boderline offensive when all I can do is indeed, hang in here.
I know one thing: that all of a sudden, your life can change. It's my hope that the wind will soon carry me. I'm always thinking of Joni Mitchell songs nowadays (Let the wind carry me, for one). Mostly it's "Both Sides Now." Let's post my favorite verse:
Tears and fears and feeling proud
to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds,
I've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange,
they shake their heads,
they say I've changed.
Something's lost
but something's gained in living every day.
I think Joni must have been 23 when she wrote this song. I remember these blogs having an optimistic ending, but I'm afraid all I can say now is that even though I don't believe my upcoming change will be easy, I do have faith that it will happen. And I think that's something.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Epiphanista
A friend of mine recently was working on a grant application to do student/faculty research in Tunisia. After months of hard work, excitement, and stress I could sense 3,000 miles a away, a key recommender decided to back out at the last minute. Saying that he was the only faculty member with suitable experience to guide the project, and "didn't know enough about it."
The aggravating thing, is that my friend was very active in pursuing this faculty member for her project. She shared her hopes of the grant with him, and he consented to write the letter- only to back out at the last minute. And who knows why- despite his word that he would assist her with a letter of recommendation- he pulled out at the last minute. Perhaps pride. Perhaps paranoia. Perhaps sensitivity. Perhaps ego.
The bottom line is that I really feel badly for my friend, because a mirrored situation recently occurred in my life. Something seemed so close, too good to be true. Turns out it's true what they say- if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
But there is something that makes my friend's problem much worse than mine. In an email to her, I had a bit of an epiphany:
"I'm just glad that other things in my life are going well. Because I'd rather have a love interest go astray then have something else in my life screw up: fail school, gain weight, get in a fight with my family."
And I realized through this, that when given the choice between having my heart broken or gaining 20 lbs, I would choose heart break every time. When given the choice to fail school, or have my heart broken, I would choose heart broken every time. This is a sad, sad revelation- one which perhaps is too personal for a blog. But it shows me that relationships with the opposite sex is the one area of my life in which I allow myself to screw up. The only part in which I allow for errors. In this way, I create a masochistic catharsis.
My CV is great. I'm at my lowest weight since freshman year of HIGH SCHOOL and I exercise everyday. I eat very healthy, take my vitamins everyday, and don't smoke. I have a 3.9 GPA. I speak with family everyday. I take great care in maintaining my friendships. I take great care of my clothes, dishes, carpet, and all my possessions. I take care of my spiritual needs. I travel. I live in Northern Ireland. My love life- stinks. And it's because I place so much emphasis on the area in which mistakes and failures are the most commonplace. A dangerous place to focus my attention, but the squeaky wheel always gets the grease, they say.
My challenge to myself, after having this epiphany, is to take at least as good care of my heart as I do of my makeup brushes. My challenge is to open my mind so that I understand mistakes are mistakes, errors are errors, and shortcomings are shortcomings, and I can allow them to happen in all parts of my life. I am only human, and there shouldn't be a compartment of my life that is dedicated to times when I feel like screwing up. I challenge myself to take more risks in other parts of my life, not just the part where it is okay if it all "goes to hell in a handbasket." To level the playing field, to take some pressure off that part of my life.
And just to lighten the mood:
The aggravating thing, is that my friend was very active in pursuing this faculty member for her project. She shared her hopes of the grant with him, and he consented to write the letter- only to back out at the last minute. And who knows why- despite his word that he would assist her with a letter of recommendation- he pulled out at the last minute. Perhaps pride. Perhaps paranoia. Perhaps sensitivity. Perhaps ego.
The bottom line is that I really feel badly for my friend, because a mirrored situation recently occurred in my life. Something seemed so close, too good to be true. Turns out it's true what they say- if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
But there is something that makes my friend's problem much worse than mine. In an email to her, I had a bit of an epiphany:
"I'm just glad that other things in my life are going well. Because I'd rather have a love interest go astray then have something else in my life screw up: fail school, gain weight, get in a fight with my family."
And I realized through this, that when given the choice between having my heart broken or gaining 20 lbs, I would choose heart break every time. When given the choice to fail school, or have my heart broken, I would choose heart broken every time. This is a sad, sad revelation- one which perhaps is too personal for a blog. But it shows me that relationships with the opposite sex is the one area of my life in which I allow myself to screw up. The only part in which I allow for errors. In this way, I create a masochistic catharsis.
My CV is great. I'm at my lowest weight since freshman year of HIGH SCHOOL and I exercise everyday. I eat very healthy, take my vitamins everyday, and don't smoke. I have a 3.9 GPA. I speak with family everyday. I take great care in maintaining my friendships. I take great care of my clothes, dishes, carpet, and all my possessions. I take care of my spiritual needs. I travel. I live in Northern Ireland. My love life- stinks. And it's because I place so much emphasis on the area in which mistakes and failures are the most commonplace. A dangerous place to focus my attention, but the squeaky wheel always gets the grease, they say.
My challenge to myself, after having this epiphany, is to take at least as good care of my heart as I do of my makeup brushes. My challenge is to open my mind so that I understand mistakes are mistakes, errors are errors, and shortcomings are shortcomings, and I can allow them to happen in all parts of my life. I am only human, and there shouldn't be a compartment of my life that is dedicated to times when I feel like screwing up. I challenge myself to take more risks in other parts of my life, not just the part where it is okay if it all "goes to hell in a handbasket." To level the playing field, to take some pressure off that part of my life.
And just to lighten the mood:
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Incorrigibly Plural
Went to a reading tonight sponsored by the English Department at Queen's University Belfast tonight, where poet Paul Muldoon read a poem entitled "Snow" by Louis MacNiece. I thought it really captured how I feel about the world at the moment, and here it is:
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
There are many times when I walk down the street in Belfast, sun shining, and rain falling on my face. And I think, "Yup, that's about right." There is so much in life that is so rewarding, and so much that is more challenging than I have ever experienced before. Acknowledging my priorities, while at the same time feeling the urge to totally break from them. The world isn't black or white or even gray, as I've seen lately. It's a checked pattern of happy and sad- challenges and rewards. Love and heartbreak. And after reflecting on this during the poetry reading, I think the point of it is just to learn how to embrace the ambiguity.
Gilda Radner once said, and it has been my favorite quote for years, the following:
"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity."
Living in Belfast is so full of challenges and sometimes I learn so much in one day I think my head might explode or fall off my neck from the weight of it. At the same time, there are so many wonderful things I am experiencing, many of which I think may fit into the framework of the rest of my life. It sounds incredibly vague and indulgent, yes. But my experience here in Belfast has been exactly those two things, along with being quintessentially grown-up. Learning where budgeting and studying and socializing fit into the timetable of my day, all whilst learning an abstract ideal that the world is much suddener than I am inclined to believe. Accepting that all this could change within moments, and learning to embrace it.
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
There are many times when I walk down the street in Belfast, sun shining, and rain falling on my face. And I think, "Yup, that's about right." There is so much in life that is so rewarding, and so much that is more challenging than I have ever experienced before. Acknowledging my priorities, while at the same time feeling the urge to totally break from them. The world isn't black or white or even gray, as I've seen lately. It's a checked pattern of happy and sad- challenges and rewards. Love and heartbreak. And after reflecting on this during the poetry reading, I think the point of it is just to learn how to embrace the ambiguity.
Gilda Radner once said, and it has been my favorite quote for years, the following:
"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity."
Living in Belfast is so full of challenges and sometimes I learn so much in one day I think my head might explode or fall off my neck from the weight of it. At the same time, there are so many wonderful things I am experiencing, many of which I think may fit into the framework of the rest of my life. It sounds incredibly vague and indulgent, yes. But my experience here in Belfast has been exactly those two things, along with being quintessentially grown-up. Learning where budgeting and studying and socializing fit into the timetable of my day, all whilst learning an abstract ideal that the world is much suddener than I am inclined to believe. Accepting that all this could change within moments, and learning to embrace it.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Things I Love
For those not on facebook, I published an album this week of photos documenting good food I've cooked and eaten this summer until now, an ongoing collection of culinary memory. Here is a public link to access it:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=264224&id=500492088&l=b2cdc8d9d1
Lately I have been waking up around 6 naturally, and it's quite strange. Usually I have just been going back to sleep, but today I decided to just stay up. And I found out why there are "morning people" in the world. Now, this isn't the first early morning of my life, but being an avid fan of sleeping in, usually when faced with an option of waking up or sleeping I pick sleeping.
This morning, however, I woke up at 6. I read some, took a shower, surfed the web, made breakfast, watched Frasier, and cleaned my kitchen. Next I'm going to work on some real homework.
I suppose that some people find spontaneity to be a treat,however, I find consistency to be rare in my life. I get up and go to sleep at different hours every day. I eat one meal a day, then the next, four meals. Sometimes I go to the library until late at night. This is the life of a student. But now I am going to make a refined effort to add some ritual in my routine. Is this what it means to grow up??? Oh well!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=264224&id=500492088&l=b2cdc8d9d1
Lately I have been waking up around 6 naturally, and it's quite strange. Usually I have just been going back to sleep, but today I decided to just stay up. And I found out why there are "morning people" in the world. Now, this isn't the first early morning of my life, but being an avid fan of sleeping in, usually when faced with an option of waking up or sleeping I pick sleeping.
This morning, however, I woke up at 6. I read some, took a shower, surfed the web, made breakfast, watched Frasier, and cleaned my kitchen. Next I'm going to work on some real homework.
I suppose that some people find spontaneity to be a treat,however, I find consistency to be rare in my life. I get up and go to sleep at different hours every day. I eat one meal a day, then the next, four meals. Sometimes I go to the library until late at night. This is the life of a student. But now I am going to make a refined effort to add some ritual in my routine. Is this what it means to grow up??? Oh well!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Ghetto Fabulous
I wonder what a version of me ten years older would think if she spent one day walking in my shoes and living in my home. There are a couple things I think she'd be unimpressed with.
Like the singular fork I claim as my possession. Only one fork to eat with, cook with, and clean. A lone fork, washed three times daily and dried on the rack, that is seldom dried by a towel because the towel is seldom clean.
The two towels, one of which is dirty and ready for washing, and the other of which is still drying from my last shower, the last shower that was taken before 10 pm, as that is when the hot water shuts off.
And then venturing onto my desk, where there is a can of pennies (pence?) marked candy fund, which is a habit which most people give up by the age of five. I started this habit five days ago.
But all these things that me, ten years from now, might scoff at, make me a bit glad, as they all suggest a certain practicality and simplicity. For instance, I only have one fork (and one bowl, one spoon, and one plate for that matter) so that dishes do not accumulate. If I need a fork, I have to wash it. So far the system has worked impeccably.
As for the jar of pennies/pence- thoroughly utilitarian, as it is doing wonders at the moment to curb my sweet tooth and save me bits of money here and there. The heavier the jar, the lighter I am.
As for the towels, and the cold water, well, I can't say I'm thrilled about either of those. But tonight as I was washing my hands in the cold faucet of my shared bathroom, I thought, when else in my life will this even be acceptable? And when else in life will I be this happy, given my conditions? The answer is never.
Ecclesiates 3:1 says that "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Now, owning only one fork is a pretty weird purpose to have under heaven, but I think I get the point.
Not having nice stuff (except my clothes, which were purchased in a different season, literally and figuratively) makes you appreciate nice experiences and nice people. Like today, I was surprised by a friend by an old book entitled "Speakin' Norn Iron as She Should Be Spoke." The book now holds a place of high esteem in my household.
Whenever I can find one bad thing in my life, I usually find that with it comes 100 good things. Maybe this is because I watched Pollyanna too much as a child, but I think it is probably that I am very blessed. Waltzing in with my complaints of my new home are the ridiculously awesome things: Living in a beautiful, historic city- and the best location in town, might I add! Getting a top-drawer education where most of my professors wrote the textbook for the class. Meeting people from all over the world passionate about their studies. Getting the chance to travel to places I wouldn't even have dreamed of at one time.
So, while my life at times may reek of ghetto, it is more than compensated for by the abundance of fabulous in my life.
Some graffiti in Dublin- even better- graffiti with typos! My favorite kind.
Like the singular fork I claim as my possession. Only one fork to eat with, cook with, and clean. A lone fork, washed three times daily and dried on the rack, that is seldom dried by a towel because the towel is seldom clean.
The two towels, one of which is dirty and ready for washing, and the other of which is still drying from my last shower, the last shower that was taken before 10 pm, as that is when the hot water shuts off.
And then venturing onto my desk, where there is a can of pennies (pence?) marked candy fund, which is a habit which most people give up by the age of five. I started this habit five days ago.
But all these things that me, ten years from now, might scoff at, make me a bit glad, as they all suggest a certain practicality and simplicity. For instance, I only have one fork (and one bowl, one spoon, and one plate for that matter) so that dishes do not accumulate. If I need a fork, I have to wash it. So far the system has worked impeccably.
As for the jar of pennies/pence- thoroughly utilitarian, as it is doing wonders at the moment to curb my sweet tooth and save me bits of money here and there. The heavier the jar, the lighter I am.
As for the towels, and the cold water, well, I can't say I'm thrilled about either of those. But tonight as I was washing my hands in the cold faucet of my shared bathroom, I thought, when else in my life will this even be acceptable? And when else in life will I be this happy, given my conditions? The answer is never.
Ecclesiates 3:1 says that "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Now, owning only one fork is a pretty weird purpose to have under heaven, but I think I get the point.
Not having nice stuff (except my clothes, which were purchased in a different season, literally and figuratively) makes you appreciate nice experiences and nice people. Like today, I was surprised by a friend by an old book entitled "Speakin' Norn Iron as She Should Be Spoke." The book now holds a place of high esteem in my household.
Whenever I can find one bad thing in my life, I usually find that with it comes 100 good things. Maybe this is because I watched Pollyanna too much as a child, but I think it is probably that I am very blessed. Waltzing in with my complaints of my new home are the ridiculously awesome things: Living in a beautiful, historic city- and the best location in town, might I add! Getting a top-drawer education where most of my professors wrote the textbook for the class. Meeting people from all over the world passionate about their studies. Getting the chance to travel to places I wouldn't even have dreamed of at one time.
So, while my life at times may reek of ghetto, it is more than compensated for by the abundance of fabulous in my life.
Some graffiti in Dublin- even better- graffiti with typos! My favorite kind.
So Freakin' Bad
"I wanna be a billionaire, so freakin bad"
To continue with my shallow entries, I've been thinking lately about what I would do with a billion dollars. And here it is! Shallow and fun, fun, fun.
I would...
Live in a place with hot water after 10 PM!
Shop at Marks & Spenser, not Tesco.
Shop at Karen Millen, not Primark.
Take Cabs!
Have more than two towels!
Have more than one fork!
Live in a place where I decide when the heat is on.
Eat something other than spaghetti
Go on a cruise around the world...like 108 days on the Queen Elizabeth. Oh, and take my whole family!
Give Gloria the Nissan anything she needs.
Buy Keeker a new collar.
A whole matching set of Georg Jensen daisy jewelry.
My mom every pair of shoes she ever wanted.
My dad whatever car he wants.
I have no idea what I would buy my brother, even if I had a billion dollars!
give a whole bunch of money to something important like research for skin diseases.
Start a scholarship for someone who matches my description
Heck, pay for my own school! And do my Master's Degree too!
Buy a round of Guinness for all my friends.
To continue with my shallow entries, I've been thinking lately about what I would do with a billion dollars. And here it is! Shallow and fun, fun, fun.
I would...
Live in a place with hot water after 10 PM!
Shop at Marks & Spenser, not Tesco.
Shop at Karen Millen, not Primark.
Take Cabs!
Have more than two towels!
Have more than one fork!
Live in a place where I decide when the heat is on.
Eat something other than spaghetti
Go on a cruise around the world...like 108 days on the Queen Elizabeth. Oh, and take my whole family!
Give Gloria the Nissan anything she needs.
Buy Keeker a new collar.
A whole matching set of Georg Jensen daisy jewelry.
My mom every pair of shoes she ever wanted.
My dad whatever car he wants.
I have no idea what I would buy my brother, even if I had a billion dollars!
give a whole bunch of money to something important like research for skin diseases.
Start a scholarship for someone who matches my description
Heck, pay for my own school! And do my Master's Degree too!
Buy a round of Guinness for all my friends.
Friday, October 15, 2010
What's red, plaid, and cute all over?
Dear God,
Thank you for my hot tutor, Tom.
Love,
Katrina.
A break my vow of serious life observation style-writing to bring you this urgent news. My tutor is totally adorable. Wears plaid and glasses and blushes a lot.
I can see it now:
(Katrina, SL, graps a green folder and a stack of notebooks in her arms as she approaches the door of her tutor, Mr. Hobbes.)
K: Ehem, knock knock!
T: Why come on in, what can I do you for?
K: Um, well, Tom- That's okay if I call you that, right, Tom?
T: Oh, sure, yah, that's a-fine.
K: Anyways, I am looking for this text...
(At this moment it is clear to the audience that Katrina does not require this text, as it is obscure and unnecessary on the reading list. It is quite clear she has knowingly found his master's dissertation amongst the list)
K: Anyways, I thought this sounds like something I would love to focus on!
T: Well, actually, I have a copy right here, um, I-a wrote it you see!
K: What? Really? WOW!
T: Yes, Yes, sure enough.
K: Well, as I said, I'd love to focus on you, I mean...your paper.
T: Ok, well, let me highlight a few sections I'd recommend to you........
(The scene pans out and the lights fade. End of Act I.)
Note:
All characters and events depicted on this site are fictional, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, or fictional or situations past, present, or fictional is purely and completely coincidental.
Thank you for my hot tutor, Tom.
Love,
Katrina.
A break my vow of serious life observation style-writing to bring you this urgent news. My tutor is totally adorable. Wears plaid and glasses and blushes a lot.
I can see it now:
(Katrina, SL, graps a green folder and a stack of notebooks in her arms as she approaches the door of her tutor, Mr. Hobbes.)
K: Ehem, knock knock!
T: Why come on in, what can I do you for?
K: Um, well, Tom- That's okay if I call you that, right, Tom?
T: Oh, sure, yah, that's a-fine.
K: Anyways, I am looking for this text...
(At this moment it is clear to the audience that Katrina does not require this text, as it is obscure and unnecessary on the reading list. It is quite clear she has knowingly found his master's dissertation amongst the list)
K: Anyways, I thought this sounds like something I would love to focus on!
T: Well, actually, I have a copy right here, um, I-a wrote it you see!
K: What? Really? WOW!
T: Yes, Yes, sure enough.
K: Well, as I said, I'd love to focus on you, I mean...your paper.
T: Ok, well, let me highlight a few sections I'd recommend to you........
(The scene pans out and the lights fade. End of Act I.)
Note:
All characters and events depicted on this site are fictional, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, or fictional or situations past, present, or fictional is purely and completely coincidental.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Summary You've Been Holding Your Breath For
In light of my last two sentimental and reflective entries, I have decided to write something a bit cheerier and fast-paced. I have a lot of ground to cover, so hold your horses!
Belfast is a wonderful city. Sometimes it even reminds me of DC- if Capitol Hill and "U" Street had a baby, that child would be Belfast. It is truly a mix of old and new, fast and slow, nice and uh- not so nice. Like DC, it can go from beautiful and historic to dodgy with just the turn of a corner. But none of that stops me from enjoying just walking around the city. I am living in Mount Charles, a beautiful, historic street in Queen's Quarter. It is the childhood home of an Irish poet whose name I can't recall just now. The street is lined with trees with giant, green leaves, and the roofs of the buildings are topped with all different shapes of chimneys like frosting on a cupcake. At night, the street is loud with drunk students walking home, which in an odd way is comforting.
During the day, men in suits and powerhouse women in clacking high heels pace the sidewalk going about their business with the utmost urgency. My window is about 7 feet tall, and I really enjoy just standing up in it and watching the people walk by. When I leave my house and head out to Malone road, there is tiny restaurants dotting the way to the University. Up further is the Lanyon building, which is innately beautiful. Every time I walk by, given the light, it looks different. I carry my camera at all times for when the Lanyon building will strike a perfect pose.
Across from it is the Student's Union, which on Monday nights, is decorated with hundreds of drunk fresher boys, and girls in mini-skirts and high heels. They are waiting to go into one of the many University sponsored bars and clubs. Unbelievable to me, really, since I am a product of a Methodist education. But nevertheless, they line up for a good time. All this is not to say that I am exempt from this activity.
Further down is the Belfast Botanical Gardens, which are both beautiful and accessible. A couple weeks ago there was a sort of bazaar there, where you could taste all sorts of food and drink. I bought this Irish goat's cheese which truly changed my life. It's called Boilie, which is a French word, but made from Irish goats, and covered in Sunflower oil, spices, and peppercorns. While food here in the UK is notoriously awful (yes, so, so, so awful), this is one food that captured my affection. I bought two containers.
If I go down further still, there is Ulster Bank, which is continuously bothersome to me. I still haven't received my account number, and I am awaiting a phone call from the bank-man today. Keep walking and there is what my travel book calls the "Trinity" of student pubs- The Eglantine, The Botanic, and I don't really know what the third is. I haven't been in the Eg yet, but my friends and I are regulars at the Bot. There is live music almost every night and is so close. Across the street is Fisherwick's church, where today, and every Thursday, I eat a free lunch of soup and hot dogs. And because it is free, it is thereby delicious.
Starting at home and flipping around the other direction is Downtown, or as the Euro's prefer "City Center." I keep complaining because "downtown" is literally one of my favorite words in the English language, and I can't use it without sounding like a cliche American. But whatever you call it, there is a lot to be seen and done. The shopping is excellent- two sort of malls, and lots of shops. Victoria Square is stunning- It cost like 300 Million pounds or something like it to build this giant glass dome over an outdoor shopping center. You can climb the dome and look out over the whole of Belfast. Build within the glass are millions of bulbs which change colors from blue to purple. It is really impressive and if anyone comes to visit we will for sure go here.
There are also so many charming Irish pubs its unbelievable. Uncomfortable slanted wooden chairs, old leather booths, the whole nine yards. Then there is The Crown bar which is across from the Europa Hotel, formerly the most bombed hotel in Europe. The Crown was designed for the privacy of its visitors- meaning, there are private booths with doors that close for you and your "mates." I'm told it is because when there was a lot of violence between groups in Belfast, when you came into the pub, you didn't know who else was there, so there was less fighting. When I went, it was with my housemates, and we were the only girls at the establishment. When a booth finally opened up, we made our way in, and were followed by one British man after the other, until there were around 20 people in this stall. They had just flown to Belfast for the evening for a stag party, and were really a lot of fun. It was such a good first experience to have here at the Crown, which I would consider Belfast's main attraction. I will be back for sure soon, most likely at my birthday.
Then of course Belfast City Hall marks the City Center. It is so beautiful, especially lit up at night. A must-see if you are ever here. It is beautiful everyday, but like in DC, when you walk by something everyday that is so beautiful it just becomes part of the landscape, a part of the walk. So I'm pretty thrilled to have beauty as part of my daily routine between the Lanyon Building and City Hall.
In addition to the city, my expectations have been overcome with my courses. Here, I am taking three courses, or "modules." Each consists of two one-hour lectures a week, with a one-hour tutorial. The courses I am taking are 1. The Politics of Deeply Divided Societies 2. Modern Political Thought and 3. The Politics of Irish Literature.
The first course is amazing, and I can't believe how jam-packed they are of information. The professors are so professional, and don't waste your time- not to mention so smart and poised. Everyday, in all my classes, in fact, I say "Oh my, really? Wow." I feel the level of education here is outstanding and I'm looking forward more and more to classes. Modern Political Thought has a very witty and clever lecturer and I think the philosophy part is fascinating.
The Politics of Irish Literature is very in-depth, and I think I will have trouble keeping up. The lecturer is nothing short of genius, and after an hour of hearing her speak I feel as though I need a nap. It's actual politics, not just reading novels. We are discussing texts from anthropological maps, to poetry, to travel guides of the 18th Century. I know I'm already behind some of the others in the class, but I won't drop it because I think there is so much to learn.
Besides classes, there is so much opportunity to participate in clubs. Last night I took part in part of a fencing club, but spent most of the evening rock climbing in the the physical education center. Let me just say that I am in love. I climbed up three times, and got a genuine high- really, I was just thrilled. It's just the challenge and the goal- and tangibly reaching it at the top. Feels so good! I think I will join the club as I had such an amazing experience last night doing that.
There is still so much I haven't seen in my three weeks in Belfast and beyond! This Saturday I am visiting Londonderry. I accidentally registered for a trip for Anthropology majors, but I guess they are letting me attend anyways. We leave at 7 AM on Saturday, then arrive in Derry for a traditional breakfast. We will spend all day in museums, which will be a real treat for me- I have come to discover whirlwind sightseeing isn't for me. A discovery which I will write about in depth later.
Tomorrow morning I will visit the Ulster Museum, which I have wanted to see since I have been here. It is free, and I think absolutely essential to understanding my politics of Irish Literature Course. I will probably bring a pen and paper! I have still to see the murals, the site where the Titanic was built, and Belfast Castle. These are all on my to-do list, among a wealth of other things like homework, bank account, etc. It seems to never end. However, in the midst of all the stress, I am having a great time trying to find up from down.
Before my sign off, just a shout-out to my iPhone and to American Food. I miss you.
Belfast is a wonderful city. Sometimes it even reminds me of DC- if Capitol Hill and "U" Street had a baby, that child would be Belfast. It is truly a mix of old and new, fast and slow, nice and uh- not so nice. Like DC, it can go from beautiful and historic to dodgy with just the turn of a corner. But none of that stops me from enjoying just walking around the city. I am living in Mount Charles, a beautiful, historic street in Queen's Quarter. It is the childhood home of an Irish poet whose name I can't recall just now. The street is lined with trees with giant, green leaves, and the roofs of the buildings are topped with all different shapes of chimneys like frosting on a cupcake. At night, the street is loud with drunk students walking home, which in an odd way is comforting.
During the day, men in suits and powerhouse women in clacking high heels pace the sidewalk going about their business with the utmost urgency. My window is about 7 feet tall, and I really enjoy just standing up in it and watching the people walk by. When I leave my house and head out to Malone road, there is tiny restaurants dotting the way to the University. Up further is the Lanyon building, which is innately beautiful. Every time I walk by, given the light, it looks different. I carry my camera at all times for when the Lanyon building will strike a perfect pose.
Across from it is the Student's Union, which on Monday nights, is decorated with hundreds of drunk fresher boys, and girls in mini-skirts and high heels. They are waiting to go into one of the many University sponsored bars and clubs. Unbelievable to me, really, since I am a product of a Methodist education. But nevertheless, they line up for a good time. All this is not to say that I am exempt from this activity.
Further down is the Belfast Botanical Gardens, which are both beautiful and accessible. A couple weeks ago there was a sort of bazaar there, where you could taste all sorts of food and drink. I bought this Irish goat's cheese which truly changed my life. It's called Boilie, which is a French word, but made from Irish goats, and covered in Sunflower oil, spices, and peppercorns. While food here in the UK is notoriously awful (yes, so, so, so awful), this is one food that captured my affection. I bought two containers.
If I go down further still, there is Ulster Bank, which is continuously bothersome to me. I still haven't received my account number, and I am awaiting a phone call from the bank-man today. Keep walking and there is what my travel book calls the "Trinity" of student pubs- The Eglantine, The Botanic, and I don't really know what the third is. I haven't been in the Eg yet, but my friends and I are regulars at the Bot. There is live music almost every night and is so close. Across the street is Fisherwick's church, where today, and every Thursday, I eat a free lunch of soup and hot dogs. And because it is free, it is thereby delicious.
Starting at home and flipping around the other direction is Downtown, or as the Euro's prefer "City Center." I keep complaining because "downtown" is literally one of my favorite words in the English language, and I can't use it without sounding like a cliche American. But whatever you call it, there is a lot to be seen and done. The shopping is excellent- two sort of malls, and lots of shops. Victoria Square is stunning- It cost like 300 Million pounds or something like it to build this giant glass dome over an outdoor shopping center. You can climb the dome and look out over the whole of Belfast. Build within the glass are millions of bulbs which change colors from blue to purple. It is really impressive and if anyone comes to visit we will for sure go here.
There are also so many charming Irish pubs its unbelievable. Uncomfortable slanted wooden chairs, old leather booths, the whole nine yards. Then there is The Crown bar which is across from the Europa Hotel, formerly the most bombed hotel in Europe. The Crown was designed for the privacy of its visitors- meaning, there are private booths with doors that close for you and your "mates." I'm told it is because when there was a lot of violence between groups in Belfast, when you came into the pub, you didn't know who else was there, so there was less fighting. When I went, it was with my housemates, and we were the only girls at the establishment. When a booth finally opened up, we made our way in, and were followed by one British man after the other, until there were around 20 people in this stall. They had just flown to Belfast for the evening for a stag party, and were really a lot of fun. It was such a good first experience to have here at the Crown, which I would consider Belfast's main attraction. I will be back for sure soon, most likely at my birthday.
Then of course Belfast City Hall marks the City Center. It is so beautiful, especially lit up at night. A must-see if you are ever here. It is beautiful everyday, but like in DC, when you walk by something everyday that is so beautiful it just becomes part of the landscape, a part of the walk. So I'm pretty thrilled to have beauty as part of my daily routine between the Lanyon Building and City Hall.
In addition to the city, my expectations have been overcome with my courses. Here, I am taking three courses, or "modules." Each consists of two one-hour lectures a week, with a one-hour tutorial. The courses I am taking are 1. The Politics of Deeply Divided Societies 2. Modern Political Thought and 3. The Politics of Irish Literature.
The first course is amazing, and I can't believe how jam-packed they are of information. The professors are so professional, and don't waste your time- not to mention so smart and poised. Everyday, in all my classes, in fact, I say "Oh my, really? Wow." I feel the level of education here is outstanding and I'm looking forward more and more to classes. Modern Political Thought has a very witty and clever lecturer and I think the philosophy part is fascinating.
The Politics of Irish Literature is very in-depth, and I think I will have trouble keeping up. The lecturer is nothing short of genius, and after an hour of hearing her speak I feel as though I need a nap. It's actual politics, not just reading novels. We are discussing texts from anthropological maps, to poetry, to travel guides of the 18th Century. I know I'm already behind some of the others in the class, but I won't drop it because I think there is so much to learn.
Besides classes, there is so much opportunity to participate in clubs. Last night I took part in part of a fencing club, but spent most of the evening rock climbing in the the physical education center. Let me just say that I am in love. I climbed up three times, and got a genuine high- really, I was just thrilled. It's just the challenge and the goal- and tangibly reaching it at the top. Feels so good! I think I will join the club as I had such an amazing experience last night doing that.
There is still so much I haven't seen in my three weeks in Belfast and beyond! This Saturday I am visiting Londonderry. I accidentally registered for a trip for Anthropology majors, but I guess they are letting me attend anyways. We leave at 7 AM on Saturday, then arrive in Derry for a traditional breakfast. We will spend all day in museums, which will be a real treat for me- I have come to discover whirlwind sightseeing isn't for me. A discovery which I will write about in depth later.
Tomorrow morning I will visit the Ulster Museum, which I have wanted to see since I have been here. It is free, and I think absolutely essential to understanding my politics of Irish Literature Course. I will probably bring a pen and paper! I have still to see the murals, the site where the Titanic was built, and Belfast Castle. These are all on my to-do list, among a wealth of other things like homework, bank account, etc. It seems to never end. However, in the midst of all the stress, I am having a great time trying to find up from down.
Before my sign off, just a shout-out to my iPhone and to American Food. I miss you.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Transition Chapter
Being in Belfast, I have spent a fair amount of time transferring pictures from my camera to my computer, journaling, blogging,facebooking, and doing whatever I can to record my time here so that I may look back and remember my adventures.
However, during this process, I have discovered a hole in my life. Between the gaps of documentation, I've been forced to ask myself: What happened between December of 2009 and September of 2010?
In December of 2009, I was interning at the Embassy of Ireland, busily running about DC in my Sofft Mary Janes and dating a fellow called Lapo. The night before I left DC there was a Christmas Party at the Embassy, and many pictures of glittering trees and snow surrounding Union Station. According to my records, the moment I next lived was when I arrived in Belfast in my new apartment.
In a way, I am extremely depressed by a gap of time that has seemed to creep by, and I am searching for landmarks to spot the time. In January, I moved back to Wesleyan- where, oh yes, I was a resident assistant. Now I recall. Then there was Winter Formal, where I accidentally shared a friend's secret in front of her boyfriend whilst putting on my makeup. What a fun night- then there was the rowdy freshman trying to steal my seat on the bus, and my new friend who defended me from him.
There was the preparation for my scholarship application, which sadly, has been rejected. And the 21 credit hours, ah yes now I remember. There was February with all of its horrid days and cold nights.
Then came St. Patrick's Day in DC, where I roamed the streets feeling as though I had never left. Skirting the parties and riding in all those taxis.
I remember getting my acceptance email to come here to Belfast. I remember standing in my window and calling my best friend to tell her. I remember the acceptance call that I got the internship for the summer. Remember being excited about my salary and going to buy frozen pizza and cheap champagne with my friend Olivia. Olivia encouraging me to buy my daisy necklace. Picking up my new necklace in the mailroom. Working in the mailroom. (Ew, did I really do that?)
Then there was my wisdom teeth. I got my teeth pulled and after the 6th, 7th, and 12th appointments, I am just now completely recovered.
In addition to this, the hundreds of appointments. The internship. The research team. The happy hours. The appointments. The visa application. The visit to have my "biometrics" collected. The trip to Pensacola.
And in a way, it seems a good way to reflect on the past- in vignettes of images, colors, and tastes.
Last night talking to my good friend Olivia, she said this "In a way, this period of our lives, from the time we left DC, until this moment, has been like a transitional chapter of a book. You don't want to read it, and you hate that it is there, but it's absolutely necessary for the plot to advance."
Wise words indeed. Now, looking back, I think on this period and I am amazed at the amount I accomplished without taking picture, writing a blog, creating a facebook album, or even taking notes in a journal. And now, joking with my friends how my "drought" is over, I think of how nice it was to have one.
However, during this process, I have discovered a hole in my life. Between the gaps of documentation, I've been forced to ask myself: What happened between December of 2009 and September of 2010?
In December of 2009, I was interning at the Embassy of Ireland, busily running about DC in my Sofft Mary Janes and dating a fellow called Lapo. The night before I left DC there was a Christmas Party at the Embassy, and many pictures of glittering trees and snow surrounding Union Station. According to my records, the moment I next lived was when I arrived in Belfast in my new apartment.
In a way, I am extremely depressed by a gap of time that has seemed to creep by, and I am searching for landmarks to spot the time. In January, I moved back to Wesleyan- where, oh yes, I was a resident assistant. Now I recall. Then there was Winter Formal, where I accidentally shared a friend's secret in front of her boyfriend whilst putting on my makeup. What a fun night- then there was the rowdy freshman trying to steal my seat on the bus, and my new friend who defended me from him.
There was the preparation for my scholarship application, which sadly, has been rejected. And the 21 credit hours, ah yes now I remember. There was February with all of its horrid days and cold nights.
Then came St. Patrick's Day in DC, where I roamed the streets feeling as though I had never left. Skirting the parties and riding in all those taxis.
I remember getting my acceptance email to come here to Belfast. I remember standing in my window and calling my best friend to tell her. I remember the acceptance call that I got the internship for the summer. Remember being excited about my salary and going to buy frozen pizza and cheap champagne with my friend Olivia. Olivia encouraging me to buy my daisy necklace. Picking up my new necklace in the mailroom. Working in the mailroom. (Ew, did I really do that?)
Then there was my wisdom teeth. I got my teeth pulled and after the 6th, 7th, and 12th appointments, I am just now completely recovered.
In addition to this, the hundreds of appointments. The internship. The research team. The happy hours. The appointments. The visa application. The visit to have my "biometrics" collected. The trip to Pensacola.
And in a way, it seems a good way to reflect on the past- in vignettes of images, colors, and tastes.
Last night talking to my good friend Olivia, she said this "In a way, this period of our lives, from the time we left DC, until this moment, has been like a transitional chapter of a book. You don't want to read it, and you hate that it is there, but it's absolutely necessary for the plot to advance."
Wise words indeed. Now, looking back, I think on this period and I am amazed at the amount I accomplished without taking picture, writing a blog, creating a facebook album, or even taking notes in a journal. And now, joking with my friends how my "drought" is over, I think of how nice it was to have one.
Monday, September 20, 2010
BelFAST & FURIOUS
After my initial experience in Ireland, I wrote a piece for my school's newspaper on what it is like to be abroad in the first few moments. Here it is:
I heard a woman shriek outside my window and woke up to my heart racing and my body in a paralyzed cold sweat. It was my first night in a new country. My first night in Belfast, Northern Ireland.
Now, it must be said that I doubt the woman was in danger. It could be that the woman was drunk or laughing. Whether it was the fear in me, or good old-fashioned jet lag, I spent the rest of the night wide awake. I was thinking about how quickly my subconscious state identified that noise and placed me in a state of danger. Then I thought about how quickly we do that not only when things go “bump in the night” but also in our waking hours. Indeed, how quickly humans stereotype experiences, placing sounds, tastes, people, and conversations into mental storage boxes of our lives.
I spent some days at the beginning of my trip constantly comparing things to my previous experiences. This airplane ride feels longer than my last one. This accommodation is smaller than my other accommodation. This group of internationals is not as fun as another group. On and on my brain went measuring things against each other as I walked down the street. As I did this, I started to become sad. I missed my room, I missed my friends, I missed the old experience.
This brought to mind a parable I heard in Sunday School about old wineskins. A strange story, indeed, for children in church, but allow me to make the connection. Now, I don’t claim to be a biblical scholar, but being an English major, literary allusions are an oft-used device in my daily thought life. This is one example.
Jesus’ parable says:
“No one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the new wine will burst the skins, the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, new wine must be poured into new wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, “The old is better.” (John 5:37-39)
Wine, over time, ferments and becomes intoxicating. The same is true for memories. As time goes by, you remember that moment of your life at its best. Not only distance in space, but distance in time, makes the heart grow fonder. In a way, your memories become intoxicating and cloud your judgment of the present.
So, in order to truly be happy in the present, I’ve found that I must find new spaces, or casks, in my mind. I must open my mind even further so that I am not so quick categorize the new experiences I am sure to have in the upcoming year in Belfast. Rather than limiting myself to a set of characters from my past and casting new people to fill those roles, I am trying to open my mind for a brand new experience. Not doing so could make me miss out on some potentially impactful relationships and adventures in my future. So while past experience can guide you and provide you with skills and understanding, one should not let this harden your heart towards new things; this is what I have learned thus far in my episode in Northern Ireland.
I heard a woman shriek outside my window and woke up to my heart racing and my body in a paralyzed cold sweat. It was my first night in a new country. My first night in Belfast, Northern Ireland.
Now, it must be said that I doubt the woman was in danger. It could be that the woman was drunk or laughing. Whether it was the fear in me, or good old-fashioned jet lag, I spent the rest of the night wide awake. I was thinking about how quickly my subconscious state identified that noise and placed me in a state of danger. Then I thought about how quickly we do that not only when things go “bump in the night” but also in our waking hours. Indeed, how quickly humans stereotype experiences, placing sounds, tastes, people, and conversations into mental storage boxes of our lives.
I spent some days at the beginning of my trip constantly comparing things to my previous experiences. This airplane ride feels longer than my last one. This accommodation is smaller than my other accommodation. This group of internationals is not as fun as another group. On and on my brain went measuring things against each other as I walked down the street. As I did this, I started to become sad. I missed my room, I missed my friends, I missed the old experience.
This brought to mind a parable I heard in Sunday School about old wineskins. A strange story, indeed, for children in church, but allow me to make the connection. Now, I don’t claim to be a biblical scholar, but being an English major, literary allusions are an oft-used device in my daily thought life. This is one example.
Jesus’ parable says:
“No one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the new wine will burst the skins, the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, new wine must be poured into new wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, “The old is better.” (John 5:37-39)
Wine, over time, ferments and becomes intoxicating. The same is true for memories. As time goes by, you remember that moment of your life at its best. Not only distance in space, but distance in time, makes the heart grow fonder. In a way, your memories become intoxicating and cloud your judgment of the present.
So, in order to truly be happy in the present, I’ve found that I must find new spaces, or casks, in my mind. I must open my mind even further so that I am not so quick categorize the new experiences I am sure to have in the upcoming year in Belfast. Rather than limiting myself to a set of characters from my past and casting new people to fill those roles, I am trying to open my mind for a brand new experience. Not doing so could make me miss out on some potentially impactful relationships and adventures in my future. So while past experience can guide you and provide you with skills and understanding, one should not let this harden your heart towards new things; this is what I have learned thus far in my episode in Northern Ireland.
Friday, July 2, 2010
It's OPSEC
Many moons have passed since I have updated my blog. That's because what I have been doing is very confidential and hush-hush. Just kidding. But I have been working as a researcher for the Department of Defense. And as I'm not exactly sure how much I'm allowed to say- or "OPSEC" (operational security)- I'm afraid the cat has got my tongue. Posting things on the internet isn't as kosher as it once was.
Thankfully, my writing was never too deep, so I shall continue. This is a very interesting time of my life, and I thought I should catch up those who might be interested, or at least as a record for myself.
Next week I will be interviewing for the Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship. This scholarship would cover the expense of my Master's Degree, and would allow me to do that abroad. My top choice is, of course, Ireland- Trinity College Dublin. Also making the cut are: Oxford University in England, Copenhagen University, University of Malta, and Cork University in Ireland.
Clearly, Ireland has captured my attention- and I haven't even been there yet! But a bit of good news- I will be spending the next year of my life in Belfast, Northern Ireland at Queen's University completing my Political Science minor and writing my Bachelor's thesis. While there, I have a couple things I'd like to accomplish. 1. Visit Denmark again! 2. Do some more traveling! (Italy anyone?) 3. Do some volunteer work in the community, and 4. Make some connections for grad school in the future! I am applying for a lot of scholarships, but should those fall through, I want to be prepared.
Other good news, my brother Zachary just got engaged this weekend to his girlfriend of three years, Shobana. He proposed at Disney World! I'm so happy for them, they are made for each other. Also, Shobana applied for "Say Yes to the Dress" on TLC, so I hope she gets it.
After I finish my undergraduate degree, I have to be honest: I'm scared. Scared of what the future holds, or doesn't hold. I'm afraid that all the wonderful things that have been happening to me will stop. I'm afraid I'll have to do it all alone. I'm afraid of being poor. I'm afraid of rejection. I'm afraid of disappointing those who love me. For that reason, I think I'll just backpack through Europe for a year, get lost, learn Romanian, and blend into the scenery repairing shoes or something.
My resume is cute. It's a piece of paper I feel proud of but have very little confidence in. I pray someone will want to hire me. I'm also EXTREMELY grateful for the opportunity to go abroad next year and sort out everything I've learned about employment this summer. It's a lot to handle. I don't want to make my blog so candid, as it was intended as a travel blog, but there it is, or was.
Sorry for the word vomit and I'll be sure to write something real poetic soon. For now I'll leave you with a poetic song.
Thankfully, my writing was never too deep, so I shall continue. This is a very interesting time of my life, and I thought I should catch up those who might be interested, or at least as a record for myself.
Next week I will be interviewing for the Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship. This scholarship would cover the expense of my Master's Degree, and would allow me to do that abroad. My top choice is, of course, Ireland- Trinity College Dublin. Also making the cut are: Oxford University in England, Copenhagen University, University of Malta, and Cork University in Ireland.
Clearly, Ireland has captured my attention- and I haven't even been there yet! But a bit of good news- I will be spending the next year of my life in Belfast, Northern Ireland at Queen's University completing my Political Science minor and writing my Bachelor's thesis. While there, I have a couple things I'd like to accomplish. 1. Visit Denmark again! 2. Do some more traveling! (Italy anyone?) 3. Do some volunteer work in the community, and 4. Make some connections for grad school in the future! I am applying for a lot of scholarships, but should those fall through, I want to be prepared.
Other good news, my brother Zachary just got engaged this weekend to his girlfriend of three years, Shobana. He proposed at Disney World! I'm so happy for them, they are made for each other. Also, Shobana applied for "Say Yes to the Dress" on TLC, so I hope she gets it.
After I finish my undergraduate degree, I have to be honest: I'm scared. Scared of what the future holds, or doesn't hold. I'm afraid that all the wonderful things that have been happening to me will stop. I'm afraid I'll have to do it all alone. I'm afraid of being poor. I'm afraid of rejection. I'm afraid of disappointing those who love me. For that reason, I think I'll just backpack through Europe for a year, get lost, learn Romanian, and blend into the scenery repairing shoes or something.
My resume is cute. It's a piece of paper I feel proud of but have very little confidence in. I pray someone will want to hire me. I'm also EXTREMELY grateful for the opportunity to go abroad next year and sort out everything I've learned about employment this summer. It's a lot to handle. I don't want to make my blog so candid, as it was intended as a travel blog, but there it is, or was.
Sorry for the word vomit and I'll be sure to write something real poetic soon. For now I'll leave you with a poetic song.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Why are so many Chinese People commenting on my blog?
Because my life lacks story details right now, I decided to post a short story I wrote my first year of University, and reading it now I love it the most I ever have. Enjoy.
Eight Year Old Me
When the wind brushed the whisps of curl onto my face I knew I would be 7 years old forever. The grass was bright green and plush but only under my feet. I wish there were dandelions there and I wish I had the time to sit in the grass like I once would have and constructed a necklace out of the wild flowers. That thought made me wish I had worn something different today. Something not so sad. It was sad outside, and I’m not exactly a glowing inspiration to nature to come out and shine. I wish I was wearing yellow. Something yellow and flowy. I owned a yellow and flowy top. Why didn’t I wear that? This one is okay, I suppose. It is blue. Blue, in and of itself, isn’t so bad. But it has black on it too. Black Satin. God, I feel thirty.
I hold my keys in my left hand. My right hand is clenched at my side, trying to keep warm. But it isn’t warm. It’s just as cold as it is out here on my walk back.
I stop in front of my building and notice there is a camera above the entrance. A small black semi-sphere. I wonder if semi-sphere is even a word. I fell in love with the word “semi” in elementary school, probably kindergarten, where my teacher introduced it to me through the form of a semi-truck. She said it was like how I semi truck wasn’t a real truck. Which now, when I think back, doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’d say that a semi truck was a real truck. A huge truck, actually.
I dismiss this memory, clutch the door handle, and throw the door back behind me when I walk in. I chug up the stairs, stopping at each landing, doubling over to make my stomach bend into a ninety degree angle. Air hisses into my nose and hits the floor of my stomach and then it oozes out of my mouth when I go up the next flight. I double my stomach over because I eat too much ice cream. I eat ice cream and cheese and then I get coffee, usually two cups, and drown the bitterness with cream and sugar. And I’m lactose intolerant. It’s my own fault. Sometimes it makes my throat ache, not like a sore throat, but the kind of pain that feels like someone is just poking their finger in my neck.
As I get out the key to my door, I think about people who wear WWJD bracelets. What Would Jesus Do. I’m thinking about the idea of getting something like that to help me remember NOT to eat dairy. But it’s thoroughly irresistible. Dairy, I mean. Not the bracelet. What would it say? I AM talking about the bracelet this time. “In case of emergency: Do not give Ice Cream.” Or simply “Lactard.” Or maybe it will be a more personal note: “You stupid girl. Do not eat dairy. It’s not worth it.” But anyway I composed the message, I know I would hate the idea of a bracelet telling me what to do. I would spite the bracelet and rebel against it.
I slug off my coat onto the ground and I’m already lying down when my second shoe hits the ground. Shoes I ought to get rid of. The smell isn’t quite right, but if I keep them on in public, usually, no one can tell. I might just throw them away. But now isn’t the time to worry about these shoes. The pain subsides, if only for the next five minutes. It comes in waves like that.
I’m putting on an episode of a radio show I used to listen to as a child so I could hear the adventures of John Avery Whittaker and Connie at the ice cream shop, which always seemed more like an after school program than an ice cream shop to me. Ice Cream. Oh God. I curl my body to that comforting ninety degree angle and grab my toes. The radio program starts and the familiar music comes on.
I see myself at the kitchen table of my youth. It is so dull. It is so scratched. I am at the table and so are my older brothers. We are listening to this radio show theme song. The green tile floor spreads under all of us and Mom is scrambling around with Pans. But she didn’t have pans. She had microwave cartons. She worked for a frozen food company back in those days. Plus she had three kids. Nowadays I find it a small miracle when I can feed myself out of a prepackaged bag labeled with its calorie contents. But Mom gets us kids food. And we are so quiet. My oldest brother is sitting away from us, of course. He calls us “The Kids.” He’s four years older than me. Two older than my other brother. Despite his junior high popularity, he is still engrossed in the programming.
I notice the radio. It is red. And has blue buttons. And seeing it is so powerful now. Like an old childhood friend I forgot about. Only this friend hasn’t changed. It is exactly how I remember, one button broken and permanently held down.
Then I notice myself. My hair is at my waist in these loose waves that seem to move on their own. I watch eight year old me quietly suck spaghetti into my mouth without looking up. I’m a little impressed at the veracity at which I’m eating. Such a small girl. Even then—no control over what I ate. That makes me smile because I realize I’m still that person. And no bracelet can tell me otherwise.
The radio program goes to commercial and I find myself back in my room staring at the ceiling. But I can’t help but think a little about eight year old me. Eight year old me. I wonder what she thinks of me right now. Would she be pleased with me? Would she be impressed with who I turned out to be? I make a mental list of things that eight year old me would have wanted from me at this point.
1. I thought I would have had a bike. Not a mountain bike, or a pink bike, just a normal street bike. I would ride it everywhere. Of course, it needed a basket on the handle bars for when I shopped for groceries or picked wild flowers off the road. And I would always ride my bike with a skirt on and people would see my hair flip around and I’d be the coolest.
2. Be married. Eight year old me wasn’t the brightest. I choose mentally to ignore that expectation of myself. Partly because it is impractical for a woman my age, yes, but partly, because I am not. And I will not have eight year old me rub it in my face.
3. I would have a room painted bright colors and pictures frames lining every surface area. I do not have this now. My walls are a yellowish white. I can’t paint them. I rent. I have three pictures in my room, none of which are me doing something goofy with a boyfriend, like sledding. Nope, just a picture of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in a small frame by my bedside and a couple of my family.
4. I would have a wardrobe full of ballgowns.
Eight Year Old Me
When the wind brushed the whisps of curl onto my face I knew I would be 7 years old forever. The grass was bright green and plush but only under my feet. I wish there were dandelions there and I wish I had the time to sit in the grass like I once would have and constructed a necklace out of the wild flowers. That thought made me wish I had worn something different today. Something not so sad. It was sad outside, and I’m not exactly a glowing inspiration to nature to come out and shine. I wish I was wearing yellow. Something yellow and flowy. I owned a yellow and flowy top. Why didn’t I wear that? This one is okay, I suppose. It is blue. Blue, in and of itself, isn’t so bad. But it has black on it too. Black Satin. God, I feel thirty.
I hold my keys in my left hand. My right hand is clenched at my side, trying to keep warm. But it isn’t warm. It’s just as cold as it is out here on my walk back.
I stop in front of my building and notice there is a camera above the entrance. A small black semi-sphere. I wonder if semi-sphere is even a word. I fell in love with the word “semi” in elementary school, probably kindergarten, where my teacher introduced it to me through the form of a semi-truck. She said it was like how I semi truck wasn’t a real truck. Which now, when I think back, doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’d say that a semi truck was a real truck. A huge truck, actually.
I dismiss this memory, clutch the door handle, and throw the door back behind me when I walk in. I chug up the stairs, stopping at each landing, doubling over to make my stomach bend into a ninety degree angle. Air hisses into my nose and hits the floor of my stomach and then it oozes out of my mouth when I go up the next flight. I double my stomach over because I eat too much ice cream. I eat ice cream and cheese and then I get coffee, usually two cups, and drown the bitterness with cream and sugar. And I’m lactose intolerant. It’s my own fault. Sometimes it makes my throat ache, not like a sore throat, but the kind of pain that feels like someone is just poking their finger in my neck.
As I get out the key to my door, I think about people who wear WWJD bracelets. What Would Jesus Do. I’m thinking about the idea of getting something like that to help me remember NOT to eat dairy. But it’s thoroughly irresistible. Dairy, I mean. Not the bracelet. What would it say? I AM talking about the bracelet this time. “In case of emergency: Do not give Ice Cream.” Or simply “Lactard.” Or maybe it will be a more personal note: “You stupid girl. Do not eat dairy. It’s not worth it.” But anyway I composed the message, I know I would hate the idea of a bracelet telling me what to do. I would spite the bracelet and rebel against it.
I slug off my coat onto the ground and I’m already lying down when my second shoe hits the ground. Shoes I ought to get rid of. The smell isn’t quite right, but if I keep them on in public, usually, no one can tell. I might just throw them away. But now isn’t the time to worry about these shoes. The pain subsides, if only for the next five minutes. It comes in waves like that.
I’m putting on an episode of a radio show I used to listen to as a child so I could hear the adventures of John Avery Whittaker and Connie at the ice cream shop, which always seemed more like an after school program than an ice cream shop to me. Ice Cream. Oh God. I curl my body to that comforting ninety degree angle and grab my toes. The radio program starts and the familiar music comes on.
I see myself at the kitchen table of my youth. It is so dull. It is so scratched. I am at the table and so are my older brothers. We are listening to this radio show theme song. The green tile floor spreads under all of us and Mom is scrambling around with Pans. But she didn’t have pans. She had microwave cartons. She worked for a frozen food company back in those days. Plus she had three kids. Nowadays I find it a small miracle when I can feed myself out of a prepackaged bag labeled with its calorie contents. But Mom gets us kids food. And we are so quiet. My oldest brother is sitting away from us, of course. He calls us “The Kids.” He’s four years older than me. Two older than my other brother. Despite his junior high popularity, he is still engrossed in the programming.
I notice the radio. It is red. And has blue buttons. And seeing it is so powerful now. Like an old childhood friend I forgot about. Only this friend hasn’t changed. It is exactly how I remember, one button broken and permanently held down.
Then I notice myself. My hair is at my waist in these loose waves that seem to move on their own. I watch eight year old me quietly suck spaghetti into my mouth without looking up. I’m a little impressed at the veracity at which I’m eating. Such a small girl. Even then—no control over what I ate. That makes me smile because I realize I’m still that person. And no bracelet can tell me otherwise.
The radio program goes to commercial and I find myself back in my room staring at the ceiling. But I can’t help but think a little about eight year old me. Eight year old me. I wonder what she thinks of me right now. Would she be pleased with me? Would she be impressed with who I turned out to be? I make a mental list of things that eight year old me would have wanted from me at this point.
1. I thought I would have had a bike. Not a mountain bike, or a pink bike, just a normal street bike. I would ride it everywhere. Of course, it needed a basket on the handle bars for when I shopped for groceries or picked wild flowers off the road. And I would always ride my bike with a skirt on and people would see my hair flip around and I’d be the coolest.
2. Be married. Eight year old me wasn’t the brightest. I choose mentally to ignore that expectation of myself. Partly because it is impractical for a woman my age, yes, but partly, because I am not. And I will not have eight year old me rub it in my face.
3. I would have a room painted bright colors and pictures frames lining every surface area. I do not have this now. My walls are a yellowish white. I can’t paint them. I rent. I have three pictures in my room, none of which are me doing something goofy with a boyfriend, like sledding. Nope, just a picture of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in a small frame by my bedside and a couple of my family.
4. I would have a wardrobe full of ballgowns.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Dotting my I's and Crossing my T's
Arrived into the Omaha airport on Friday afternoon, I was still feeling high on my recent travels. Until I hit a car, and busted out a tail light. When I made it out of the parking garage, I saw that it had snowed three inches. The next morning, I attempted to file my taxes, and learned that I make so little money, I am not required to file. What a wonder. What a weekend.
As gloomy of an experience that was, I am thrilled to say that the week previous to these events was fantastic. Over my Spring Break, I traveled back to Washington, DC, where I saw many old friends from that side of the states, as well as some new faces.
I arrived in DC on Monday night, where I spent the night in the old CHIP house with one of my Wesleyan friends. It was the strangest feeling- as though I had only been gone the weekend. I spent most of my trip mulling about town, walking down past the capitol, through the mall, and up through Metro Center. This time, I even snuck into Ford's Theatre-where Lincoln was shot- during a rehearsal. That night I went to the Kennedy Center to see some Irish dancing on the eve of St. Patrick's Day. My brother and I went out after wards for some lovely food. I had the best fish and chips of my life, served over homemade tartar sauce and drizzled with hot sauce. Even now, my mouth is watering. The next day, my brother Jeremy and I went paddle-boating on the Tidal Basin, right between the Washington Monument and the Jefferson. It was so beautiful- a gorgeous 75 degrees, so sunny you could die. That night was very important to me, as it was a primary reason for me to return to Washington, DC.
They say hind-sight is 20/20, and being back in DC really clarified for me all the lessons I learned there. My journey back made me realize that, in DC, I fell in love with being taken seriously. I was treated with respect, as though I were an adult, and grew accustomed to such treatment. This has made coming back to Nebraska very challenging for two reasons. A> I'm just a lousy college student, here, and sometimes I feel as though it wouldn't matter if I were here or not, and B> I have become more focused than ever on having people take me seriously. I can see the effects of this trickle down, especially in an academic sense.
After DC, I have started to take my studies more seriously, and this focus has led me to a class that I am currently taking called Prestigious Scholarship. In a lot of ways, this one-credit course has had the largest impact on my life of all classes. Once a week, a small group meets to workshop Prestigious Scholarship applications, and to work closely with a professor on them. Now that I am in this class, I have selected three prestige scholarships that I intend on submitting an application for.
This class forces me to call into question- weekly- my plans for the future. It forces me to evaluate my experiences, and apply them to my future. Sort of like academic group therapy. I feel a lot of pressure lately to perform at my highest level, and to not waste a minute of my time. While I feel I should be doing this, I am also left feeling exhausted, and even as though I am playing out of my league.
It is with all these emotions that I returned to DC. When I arrived, I found this: As intimidated I can be of the world around me, I must remember that not all have walked where I have walked, and have pulled it off.
ST. Patrick's Day night, I attended a reception hosted by the Embassy in honor of the Taoiseach (Prime Minister), as well as a few other Irish dignitaries. Now, I won't lie to the world, and say that I shook his hand, and he complimented my eyes, and we had a Guinness together. That is a bold face lie. I did not meet Mr. Brian Cowen, but as I stood there, listening to his speech, I had a thought: I really shouldn't be here. I mean, I am a 21 year old girl from Nebraska. Nobody I know could have just brought me to this. I did this on my own. I shouldn't be here, yet, here I am.
And it is times like these that I relax. And although I can't quite put it in words, little moments like these help me to realize something about myself that I haven't yet found the words to articulate. I guess, they make me feel, well, special. Like I'm on a path. And for as much as I worry, the good things that are supposed to happen are going to happen. All I've got to do is dot some I's and cross some T's to make sure that they do.
As gloomy of an experience that was, I am thrilled to say that the week previous to these events was fantastic. Over my Spring Break, I traveled back to Washington, DC, where I saw many old friends from that side of the states, as well as some new faces.
I arrived in DC on Monday night, where I spent the night in the old CHIP house with one of my Wesleyan friends. It was the strangest feeling- as though I had only been gone the weekend. I spent most of my trip mulling about town, walking down past the capitol, through the mall, and up through Metro Center. This time, I even snuck into Ford's Theatre-where Lincoln was shot- during a rehearsal. That night I went to the Kennedy Center to see some Irish dancing on the eve of St. Patrick's Day. My brother and I went out after wards for some lovely food. I had the best fish and chips of my life, served over homemade tartar sauce and drizzled with hot sauce. Even now, my mouth is watering. The next day, my brother Jeremy and I went paddle-boating on the Tidal Basin, right between the Washington Monument and the Jefferson. It was so beautiful- a gorgeous 75 degrees, so sunny you could die. That night was very important to me, as it was a primary reason for me to return to Washington, DC.
They say hind-sight is 20/20, and being back in DC really clarified for me all the lessons I learned there. My journey back made me realize that, in DC, I fell in love with being taken seriously. I was treated with respect, as though I were an adult, and grew accustomed to such treatment. This has made coming back to Nebraska very challenging for two reasons. A> I'm just a lousy college student, here, and sometimes I feel as though it wouldn't matter if I were here or not, and B> I have become more focused than ever on having people take me seriously. I can see the effects of this trickle down, especially in an academic sense.
After DC, I have started to take my studies more seriously, and this focus has led me to a class that I am currently taking called Prestigious Scholarship. In a lot of ways, this one-credit course has had the largest impact on my life of all classes. Once a week, a small group meets to workshop Prestigious Scholarship applications, and to work closely with a professor on them. Now that I am in this class, I have selected three prestige scholarships that I intend on submitting an application for.
This class forces me to call into question- weekly- my plans for the future. It forces me to evaluate my experiences, and apply them to my future. Sort of like academic group therapy. I feel a lot of pressure lately to perform at my highest level, and to not waste a minute of my time. While I feel I should be doing this, I am also left feeling exhausted, and even as though I am playing out of my league.
It is with all these emotions that I returned to DC. When I arrived, I found this: As intimidated I can be of the world around me, I must remember that not all have walked where I have walked, and have pulled it off.
ST. Patrick's Day night, I attended a reception hosted by the Embassy in honor of the Taoiseach (Prime Minister), as well as a few other Irish dignitaries. Now, I won't lie to the world, and say that I shook his hand, and he complimented my eyes, and we had a Guinness together. That is a bold face lie. I did not meet Mr. Brian Cowen, but as I stood there, listening to his speech, I had a thought: I really shouldn't be here. I mean, I am a 21 year old girl from Nebraska. Nobody I know could have just brought me to this. I did this on my own. I shouldn't be here, yet, here I am.
And it is times like these that I relax. And although I can't quite put it in words, little moments like these help me to realize something about myself that I haven't yet found the words to articulate. I guess, they make me feel, well, special. Like I'm on a path. And for as much as I worry, the good things that are supposed to happen are going to happen. All I've got to do is dot some I's and cross some T's to make sure that they do.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
March of the Peacocks
Here I am, writing to you from small prison cell, I mean dorm, in Centennial Hell, I mean Hall. I am officially a college student again.
My major challenge while I am here is not my academics, or managing a busy schedule. It is trying to not complain. I am attempting at a cynic- free lifestyle. I live in a first year dorm as the RA, floating in between classes and the library.
But amidst all my begrudging, I feel a real sense of hope. As cheesy as it is, I found a little bit of strength for a new-found outlook through my long time hero, Conan O'Brien.
My fellow Irish-American Conan has been through an interesting ordeal in the past couple of months. He was living his dream, and then all of it came to a sudden stop. I'm sure I can relate to how he must be feeling on some level. Having come back from the most amazing year of my life, I feel strangely out of place back here at square one. It all ended too suddenly, and I find myself shaking my head and trying to believe that all those amazing things happened, and that I met so many people who will hold a place in my heart forever.
But Conan's goodbye speech is what made me take a second look at the road that lies before me here at University. Conan said this:
"I have had more good fortune than anybody I know. and if our next gig is doing a show in a 7-11 parking lot, we will find a way to make it fun. we really will. i have no problems. (I don't want to do it in a 7-11 parking lot)"
"I ask one thing: Please do not by cynical...it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they would get. but if you work really hard, and you are kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you, amazing things will happen"
From all of this, I gather a lot of strength. It comes from a humbled part of my heart that I say that I have had more good fortune that anybody I know. It's not that I think that I am better than those I know, it is that I recognize the fact that I have been divinely favored and blessed by God. I can't speak highly enough of the year I have had. I could speak for hours about how my life has been forever changed. But I also know that there is more to come, and admittedly this is something I have to reaffirm to myself everyday. I can find a way to make this fun. I can work harder and be more kind than anyone I know. In this way, I will forge on, constantly keeping my eye on the horizon for wonderful things to happen.
PS- I think I look like Conan's wife. Google that stuff. And her last name is Powell. Wicked cool, eh?
My major challenge while I am here is not my academics, or managing a busy schedule. It is trying to not complain. I am attempting at a cynic- free lifestyle. I live in a first year dorm as the RA, floating in between classes and the library.
But amidst all my begrudging, I feel a real sense of hope. As cheesy as it is, I found a little bit of strength for a new-found outlook through my long time hero, Conan O'Brien.
My fellow Irish-American Conan has been through an interesting ordeal in the past couple of months. He was living his dream, and then all of it came to a sudden stop. I'm sure I can relate to how he must be feeling on some level. Having come back from the most amazing year of my life, I feel strangely out of place back here at square one. It all ended too suddenly, and I find myself shaking my head and trying to believe that all those amazing things happened, and that I met so many people who will hold a place in my heart forever.
But Conan's goodbye speech is what made me take a second look at the road that lies before me here at University. Conan said this:
"I have had more good fortune than anybody I know. and if our next gig is doing a show in a 7-11 parking lot, we will find a way to make it fun. we really will. i have no problems. (I don't want to do it in a 7-11 parking lot)"
"I ask one thing: Please do not by cynical...it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they would get. but if you work really hard, and you are kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you, amazing things will happen"
From all of this, I gather a lot of strength. It comes from a humbled part of my heart that I say that I have had more good fortune that anybody I know. It's not that I think that I am better than those I know, it is that I recognize the fact that I have been divinely favored and blessed by God. I can't speak highly enough of the year I have had. I could speak for hours about how my life has been forever changed. But I also know that there is more to come, and admittedly this is something I have to reaffirm to myself everyday. I can find a way to make this fun. I can work harder and be more kind than anyone I know. In this way, I will forge on, constantly keeping my eye on the horizon for wonderful things to happen.
PS- I think I look like Conan's wife. Google that stuff. And her last name is Powell. Wicked cool, eh?
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Resiliance
As of today, I have been home for exactly three weeks. Since being home I have been itching, stirring, and rolling in my sleep. I feel like a fly on a camel's back. I am officially bored.
Adding to my frustration is the fact that I have been snowed in many times since I have been home. Today has been one of those days.
Stir-crazy, I went out to get the mail. The snow was still falling hard, and many neighbors were out with snow blowers and shovels. And it was so strange. Above the scrape of shovels and roar of the blowers, I heard laughter. And chatting. People were greeting each other and digging out.
That's when I realized something about Nebraska. People who live here are among the most resilient I have ever met. I don't know how, but somehow the weather can't get them down. When they are faced with obstacles, they fall down and get up laughing.
I witnessed a similar thing last week as well. Once, I drove my car into a snow bank down the street from my house. I was unable to drive, and blocking the road. Another driver silently got out of his car, grabbed a shovel, and helped me scoop the white fluff and harsh ice from around my confined tires. There were exchanges between us. It was an unspoken camaraderie.
To shamelessly quote Primo Levi again:"The sea's only gifts are harsh blows, and, occasionally, the chance to feel strong."
The same is true for Nebraska. You can't expect more from this prairie land than harsh blows of snow, and the chance to feel capable of shoveling it out of the way.
In the days ahead, I will be faced with a unique challenge: Living the day to day. Working hard, and just waiting until I can wander again. Waiting to escape Nebraska. But maybe in the meantime I will be given a chance to feel strong.
Adding to my frustration is the fact that I have been snowed in many times since I have been home. Today has been one of those days.
Stir-crazy, I went out to get the mail. The snow was still falling hard, and many neighbors were out with snow blowers and shovels. And it was so strange. Above the scrape of shovels and roar of the blowers, I heard laughter. And chatting. People were greeting each other and digging out.
That's when I realized something about Nebraska. People who live here are among the most resilient I have ever met. I don't know how, but somehow the weather can't get them down. When they are faced with obstacles, they fall down and get up laughing.
I witnessed a similar thing last week as well. Once, I drove my car into a snow bank down the street from my house. I was unable to drive, and blocking the road. Another driver silently got out of his car, grabbed a shovel, and helped me scoop the white fluff and harsh ice from around my confined tires. There were exchanges between us. It was an unspoken camaraderie.
To shamelessly quote Primo Levi again:"The sea's only gifts are harsh blows, and, occasionally, the chance to feel strong."
The same is true for Nebraska. You can't expect more from this prairie land than harsh blows of snow, and the chance to feel capable of shoveling it out of the way.
In the days ahead, I will be faced with a unique challenge: Living the day to day. Working hard, and just waiting until I can wander again. Waiting to escape Nebraska. But maybe in the meantime I will be given a chance to feel strong.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Pomegranates, Oysters, or Just Plain Cheese
The feeling I will savor the most from my twenties is the feeling that I have just cracked the world open like a pomegranate.
Little by little, I have found myself totally unbridled by, well, anything. I have learned that the world is mine to open up, and enjoy the fruits inside. Now, forgive the shamelessly cheesy metaphor, and allow me to explain.
Two Tuesday mornings ago I found myself in a whirlwind of activity. It was so busy that the memories of the day before- sharing a farewell cake with colleagues and packing up my apartment- seemed far removed. This particular Tuesday morning started early for me at 6 AM. I hurriedly dressed and got to work ten minutes before eight. I was going to tour the White House.
My tour mates arrived, and we left our bags at the Embassy (as no bags of any sort are allowed on the tour). We metro'd to the Residence of the President, and as we arrived at the gate and hear the guard ask for identification, it dawned on me. I had no ID. I may as well have been naked.
Causing my two group mates to suffer a minor heart attack, one handed me two crumpled five dollar bills and ran to the street to hail me a taxi. He told me to go back, get my ID, and get right back into the same cab. A true life saver, he was. I hoped in the cab and gave him instructions to the Embassy. I was tempted to follow it with "and an extra 5 shillings if you make it there in 10 minutes!" But I refrained. I had shown enough adolescence for one day.
I managed to make it back to the White House in the nick of time. We made our tour, and my two companions didn't seem too angry with me. The tour itself was gorgeous- a white chocolate White House gingerbread house, floral arrangements, and rich tapestries. But the thing that I will remember most is forgetting my ID, and having someone there to bail me out- someone who knew exactly what to do.
That day held chaos beyond belief, as it was the day of the infamous Christmas Party. I spent all day finalizing guest lists, knocking of riff-raff, and fearing for my life. It went by so fast, before I knew it, I was standing at the door, hair curled, in my new Zara dress, trying not to look cold as I greeted people, one by one.
I could smell the interns as they walked in. The Congressional ones who did not receive and invitation but had fan-dangled their way into our festivities. They wore ill-fitting suits and brought girlfriends in inappropriate dresses. I detest them with every fiber of my being.
But in no way, shape, or form, did that put a damper on my evening. After my shift at the door, I royally enjoyed my evening, walking around like I was the host of the party. Normally this behavior is not exhibited by me, yet, "when in Rome." I bid my farewell to the Ambassador, and even had my photograph taken with him. All in all, a smashing success witnessed by all in attendance.
The evening ended with sorrowful farewells between myself and the diplomats. However, one of them carried on the festivities at the Irish pub down the street. We walked with several Embassy employees down the street where a man from Northern Ireland, in a rather drunken state, gave me a piece of advice I shall never forget. He said, "Katrina...no matter what you do, don't you ever, don't even think about, don't even consider, don't ever let it cross your mind, don't even think about gettin married before you are 25." And you know what? That sounds like pretty decent advice to me.
You know why? Because I've realized in the past year that there are 101 things I want to do even before I turn 22. There are another 101 things I want to do before 23. The world is so full of things to do, and places to see. As of late, I quite literally feel as though the world is my oyster. Judge me if you will, but this sense of freedom has been earned and tested through fire!
From spending a semester in Denmark, and a semester in DC, I have gained a sense of boldness. I no longer believe that things like adventures- or important positions- or foreign destinations- or even love- are just for people more worthy than I. Rather, I can achieve anything I want. The catch is, I have to do it for myself.
But of course, I have been divinely favored. My opportunities are endless, and I am truly thankful for all that I have experienced thus far, and all that I am to experience in the future. I see the world no longer as a piece of solid fruit, but rather a dissected ornament, filled with hundreds of possibilities.
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