"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.
Monday, October 18, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)