Days Like These

I'm sitting on my bed, ochre bed sheets and an Ethiopian cotton blanket warming my toes. Looking out the window you can tell it's cold outside. The air is crisp, the sky is clear, everything looks sharp. Inside, it's completely different. Everything looks hazy, dim, and undefined. Two little lit lamps attempt to make a difference, but they can't compete against the atmosphere. It's days like this when you realize that the world is bigger than you. That its mood envelops you and that you are defined by your surroundings. I like to feel small. Sometimes it's comforing. I like to feel in perspective compared to the world.
Sometimes it's depressing, because I want to feel like my life matters. But when I get humbled by nature like this, it proves that I can only accomplish little compared to the world.
What is it about humans and feeling like they need to change the world? And this sense of urgency...

Motivation

Okay my friends... so tomorrow I hand in all my final papers. Tomorrow, I am officially academically done for 2006. But damn, tomorrow seems like a long long time away. I've still got two papers to finish writing and my brain is screaming "mercy!" Yes, yes. I know. It'll be fine in the end and I will get it done. It always is. But uuugh.
One of my RAs came to me and was complaining about a bad situation. Then she said she shouldn't feel bad about feeling bad. "That's catholic guilt for you." There's always someone out there doing worse than you. But speaking in relative deprivation terms, it still sucks.
Now that I am fully motivated... back to work.

My Second Race

Today, I ran my second 5 K race and finished in under 28:00. I'm proud of myself, because that's a whole minute faster than my last timed run. At the end, I had less to give, which means I ran it well. I guess I didn't achieve my goal of 27:00 minutes, but I also didn't feel like throwing up. :) Now I'm energized, happy, and ready to write my final exams.

Getting Better

Today, I ran 5 kilometers in a little under 28:00. That's a 9 minute mile. I have been able to shave off two whole minutes since I started taking running seriously two and a half weeks ago. I start every time with a higher base, and increase the pace every half mile or so. My favorite part of running is the end, when I let myself go into a full sprint and feel like I have nothing left to give. My goal is to shave off one more minute by the time I run my last race this year. Today, I felt like throwing up at the end. That's when you know you've given it your all.

Going Home

So I'm going home for Christmas! Almost didn't know if I would make it. It is much easier to climb a mountain if you can see the top. At least that's my view on it.
I'm starting to run 5ks regularly now, and starting to speed up a little. It's pretty to go out running, I must say! :-)
Today is my 1 year anniversary with Carter. Don't believe it? Go back to my post on November of last year. It's kind of cute. Things are still going very well... he has become my anchor.
More to come... pause now for work.

My First Race

I just completed my first ever 5 K race in under 29 minutes. I'm pretty proud of myself and I feel like a million bucks. Okay, so that's not a great time, but it's still pretty good considering that four days ago I didn't even know if I could run that long. I tried it on the treadmill and nearly died. But today, I participated in Race for the Cure supporting breast cancer research. It was amazing to not only know that I could do it (complete the race in a good time) but also that I was surrounded by people who came together for a good cause and by women who had survived the disease. At the race, you could pin a sign that said "I'm running in celebration of" or "in memory of" and so I ran it in celebration of my aunt Marina Lancia, who survived her bout with breast cancer a long time ago and is arguable one of the strongest, most inspirational women I know.

This race will not be the last. I'm going to start training to run a 10 K in March. I can do it!

Respect

Tonight I led a mandatory meeting of all the girls in one floor of my residence hall. I had called the meeting because I have been getting reports of girls disrespecting and attacking each other with racial slurs, religious attacks, and attacks on sexual preference. I had to talk to more than 50 girls about the topic of acceptance and community standards, and in my mind everything went well. I was very stern with them, as I think I should have been. I hope that my points came across and that the were not just alienated but that they actually took it upon themselves to make sure that that floor does have a better community. It's been depressing to have to deal with such social backwardness. I guess it's reality. You would think respect was something that they at least came to college with.
I really hope I wasn't blaring hot air -- I hope some of it will affect some of the girls. I know that some girls who felt discriminated against feel better now. They told me so. But I want to make sure that I have instilled in them an idea that respect is necessary and that they can all examine their actions and see ways to be more tolerant and accepting of differences. Gosh, that is the hope, isn't it?

Harlem

By Langston Hughes


What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore --
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

A little bit about...

Lately, I've been very concerned with stress. One could say I've been stressing about stress. Ha. But what, exactly, is it? Apparently, stress is a force strong enough to cause ulcers, acne, weight gain, missed periods, feelings of imbalance, and bunch of other things. I've tried to understand it, but the definition seems elusive. Apparently, doctors aren't too sure how to define it either. So whatever the hell it is, I've had too much of it.

I'm tired of stressing about stress. All the "solutions" for eliminating stress that advice givers give are deceptively simple, like "pursue realistic goals," and "be a friend to yourself." What does that mean? Maybe I'm making this into a bigger deal than it is, but I don't really see how a person who is stressed out can find that information useful. It sounds good, to be sure, but it doesn't give people any TOOLS to deal with it. It just gives a broad idea. Oh, but advice givers do give specific advice, you say. Yes, they give advice like "breathe deeply" and "set aside 10 minutes a day to meditate." Please. Like that's really going to work.
So, unable to find a person or resource around me who can figure it out, I've come up with my own solution. "Take a break." Take a break that's long enough to make you remember what it felt like when you weren't living life on the edge of insanity. It really does help.

Hey, guess what? I think I just found another stress reliever: blogging. This is the most time I've devoted to my thoughts in a really long time. Never mind that it's 12:41 am... I'm going to sleep in tomorrow because I want to. And life can wait. How's that for not being stressed? :)

Still I Rise

By Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With you battered, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
From a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear the tide.

Leaving nights of terror and fear
I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise.
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

After a long time...

Hey folks,
So it's been a long time, I know. Sometimes life gets busy-- you know how it is. I guess life should never get so busy for so long that for months none of your friends who don't live within ten minutes of you know what's going on in your life. But, alas, that is what happened. So -- first I will ask you to forgive me, then I will tell you what's been going on.
I got that job... that I wanted so much. It has certainly been tough, and for awhile there I didn't know if I was cut out for it... but I've been getting used to it and it's a lot better now. I am basically responsible for 650 girls living in a residence hall at the College of Charleston. I get to deal with a lot of problems, try to fix them when I can, and when I can't, refer them to people who can. I have a staff of 16 wonderful women, and they have all worked hard to make it a success so far. At first, all the responsibility really got to me. I felt personally responsible for every girl who got sexually assaulted, was battling anorexia, was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, had serious medical conditions, etc. etc. I always thought that I could have/should have done more. And then I just couldn't do it anymore. I didn't want to lose my humanity and empathy, but at the same time, it was impossible to function by living with all that guilt. So I had my valley of low, and got over it. I've become much better at dealing with situations, which I think makes me better at my job.
In the midst of it all, I am working on my history degree. That is going quite well... I am trying to put the studies first, but there is always some emergency to be dealt with, of course... but the plan is still to continue on to a doctorate in history... inshallah.
Anyway, summary is -- I'm happy. I'm doing something which is worthwhile in my mind. I'm in a position where I really do have the ability to impact a lot of people for what I hope is the better. It has certainly taught me that I need to lead by example... and that people are always watching, judging, and in some cases, just waiting for you to fall so they can take advantage of it. Luckily, I have wonderful friends and a boyfriend that support me through all of it. So... that's my update.

BIG HUG to everyone who is STILL reading this.

Bring it on.

Bring on the craziness. I'm ready, or at least as ready as I'll ever be. If I have been absent for what seems like forever, it is only because I have been training like crazy for this new job. Training ended yesterday, my staff arrives tomorrow, and today... today I focus on breathing. Maybe for the last time. :) We'll see. I'm excited. I'm ready. Bring it on.

FORZA AZZURRI!!

FORZA AZZURRI!!

For My People

This is one of the most powerful poems I've ever read. It was written by Margaret Walker in 1942. It's a bit long, but stay with it till the end. Take your time and take it in.

For my people everywhere singing their slave songs repeatedly: their dirges and their ditties and their blues and jubilees, praying their prayers nightly to an unknown god, bending their knees humbly to an unseen power;
For my people lending their strength to the years, to the gone years and the nowyears and the maybe years, washing ironing cooking scrubbing sewing mending hoeing plowing digging planting pruning patching dragging along never gaining never reaping never knowing and never understanding;
For my playmates in the clay and dust and sand of Alabama backyards playing baptizing and preaching and doctor and jail and soldier and school and mama and cooking and playhouse and concert and store and hair and Miss Choomby and company;
For the cramped bewildered years we went to school to learn to know the reasons why and the answers to and the people who and the places where and the days when, in memory of the bitter hours when we discovered we were black and poor and small and different and nobody cared and nobody wondered and nobody understood;
For the boys and girls who grew in spite of these thing to be man and woman, to laugh and dance and sing and play and drink their wine and religion and success, to marry their playmates and bear children and then die of consumption and anemia and lynching;
For my people thronging 47th Street in Chicago and Lenox Avenue in New York and Rampart Street in New Orleans, lost disinherited dispossessed and happy people filling the cabarets and taverns and other people's pockets needing bread and shoes and milk and land and money and something-something all our own;
For my people walking blindly spreading joy, losing time being lazy, sleeping when hungry, shouting when burdened, drinking when hopeless, tied and shackled and tangled among ourselves by the unseen creatures who tower over us omnisciently and laugh;
For my people blundering and groping and floundering in the dark of churches and schools and clubs and societies, associations and councils and committees and conventions, distressed and disturbed and deceived and devoured by money-hungry glory-craving leeches, preyed on by facile forces of state and fad and novelty, by false prophet and holy believer;
For my people standing trying to fashion a better way from confusion, from hypocrisy and misunderstanding, trying to fashion a world that will hold all the people, all the faces, all the adams and eves and their countless generations;
Let a new earth rise. Let another world be born. Let a bloody peace by written in the sky. Let a second generation full of courage issue forth; let a people loving freedom come to growth. Let a beauty full of healing and strength of final clenching by the pulsing in our spirits and our blood. Let the martial songs by written, let the dirges disappear. Let a race of men now rise and take control.

--Margaret Walker

A Furry Wake-Up

So. I'm house sitting for this family that went to Greece for two weeks, and they have 5 cats and a dog. I like them all, especially the cats, because they just come whenever they want to, and never bug you or paw at your skinned knees and if you forget them outside then, oh well... they're cats. Anyway. The cats usually come to wake me up religiously between 6:45 and 7:15. If that fails -- and if you have ever tried to wake me up, you know how that can fail -- the big ass labrador JD comes in, pawing and barking at me. It's usually pretty hard to ignore him. So I have to get up, feed them all, and then try to get back to sleep. Which is always impossible, but I always try anyway.
In any case, last night was even more annoying, because they ALL decided that they wanted to sleep on my bed. I didn't have the energy to get up and close the door, and I was kind of having fun annoying them by moving my leg under the covers, and so I left them and finally fell asleep (purring cats do help you fall asleep). But then, when I was in the midst of beautiful dreams, I was woken up multiple times during the night. It was a cat trying to cuddle. With my FACE. Not cool. And then this morning, when JD walked in, I looked up and saw that all FIVE cats were curled up on the bed. I had to laugh. Five cats on the bed, one who had been schmoozing with my face all night long, big yellow lab JD, and my grumpy sleepy self all in one room at 6:45 in the morning. Crazy.
You can bet your ass I am closing that damn door tonight, though.

Things I Like:

• good espresso made by someone else in the morning just how I like it
• looking out of the window on rainy days
• when the Italian soccer team wins a game during the World Cup
• cuddling with the boy in the mornings

Things I dislike:

• getting up in the morning still feeling exhausted
• uppitty, snooty, and ridiculously sheltered people
• starbucks trying to create and eco-friendly image of itself (bah!)
• when a computer malfunction makes me lose my work!

Okay. I'm tired. And yeah... I don't even know why I made that (very partial) list. Meh. Thought it would be good to remember.

Also, if I have a daughter sometime in my life, I decided what I'm going to name her: Isabella Sofia.

Shoot for the Moon

Yes. I'm still here. For all three of you who check this. And for myself, because, after all, don't we have to remind ourselves every once in awhile that we're alive? Feeling alive is an incredibly powerful thing. Makes us believe in the power that is vested in us, in the ability we have to change not only what we have become, but our environment as well.

Charleston is going through a beautiful period right now. Spoleto USA (a yearly arts festival) is here... and the city is filled with artists and performances of all kinds. One gets a sense that people are receptive, for once, to change. Yesterday I went to see a drag queen show. Even though it was an absolutely terrible performance (because she did nothing but lipsynch and after awhile, living in NY desensitizes you to the novelty of physical difference) the audience loved it. The crowd was basically made up of what the queen called "uptown white bitches," the same ones I've been talking about in my posts every now and again. Anyway, everytime she called them that, they squealed with delight. Like they were proud to be "uptown white bitches" and didn't realize that, (ahem!) it wasn't a compliment. In any case, point is, the "bitches" came out. They left their Mt. Pleasant bubble (although not quite, because the performance was in a ritzy club) and saw something new. Oh, and P.S. where they live really is called Mt. Pleasant.

Everytime we experience something new, it forces us to widen that narrow lense in which we enclose our reality. That is the hope, at least. For me, the widening experience came when I went to see a company of Flamenco dancers two nights ago. Their talent was incredible. Aside from being the best possible cardio workout in the world, this form of dance was one of the most graceful and emotional types I have ever experienced. I seriously sat wide-eyed in the audience, absolutely amazed by the ability that this small company had to move me with them. I left euphoric... but also painfully aware of my own mediocrity. And it made me realize once and for ever, that I want to do something with my life. My goal extends beyond personal happiness, it reaches into the realm of action. To be a mover, to make a difference. It's what I've always wanted to achieve, but in the process of "growing up," I think I substituted "realism" with "idealism" and it seems that has messed up my recipe. Not to worry though, I'm going to get it back, put it in, do what I need to do so that I will become all I can be. Because at the end of the day, I expect that of myself. So, here I go -- shooting for the moon, trusting that I will fall somewhere among the stars.

Sorrow and Strength

This letter was written by General of the US Army C.P. Summerall, who was also president of the Citadel, in response to a letter offering condolences for the loss of his wife. It is so incredibly sad. The letter itself has tear marks on it, where the ink was stained in blotches. I found it in the collection I'm working on for the CofC Special Collection's Library. This letter may not be reproduced.

May 4, 1948
Dear Rabbi Klapperman:
I want to thank you and through you, the members of your congregation and the Jewish cadets and veterans at the Citadel for your sympathy in my overwhelming sorrow. Your tribute to my loved one touches me and fills me with gratitude to you. She was my life and the way is very dark without her. I can seek strength only from above.
Sincerely yours,
C.P. Summerall

ADDIS ABABA CITYSCAPE

This is what part of the city of Addis looks like...
Taxi drivers. Note dents on cars-- these guys charge only a few cents a ride, and to know where they are headed, you have to listen out for the guy who is standing with the door open, because his job is to scream it out loud and collect the fares! They randomly stop whenever someone wants to get on, which means swerving from the left lane to the right lane without blinkers, and aggressively getting back into traffic by betting on the fact that you don't want your car to be hit, and theirs already looks like crap.
Traffic jam. These cows are being brought to the slaughter house (you can see its wall on the right hand side) via the main road. Happens all the time. Sometimes one cow figures out that she's going to die and bolts for the end of the road. Then the others follow, and you are surrounded by a stampede of freaked out livestock. Traffic jam #2. Sheep use the main road too!
Fruit and vegetable vendor. This lady is laying out her goods for customers; some of the best produce you ever tasted can be found in these ridiculously cheap stands. Just to give you an idea, 1 kilo (2.2 pounds) of bananas can go for as low as 3 birr (less than 30 cents, US).

ETHIOPIAN PEOPLE

Some images that reflect life in the city Addis Ababa.

Poor children get trained early to accost white faces and beg for money.
Man in the north-west side of town.
Woman with her baby in "Piazza" area of town
Taxi driver

ETHIOPIAN LANDSCAPES

I finally downloaded my pictures from my Christmas trip to Ethiopia. Here are some of my favorite lanscapes.

Lake Langano taken from the rim of the volcano

Woman walking to her village in Langano

On the way back from Menegesha National Forest

Hiking Trip

This past weekend Anna and I went on a hiking trip to Jones Gap State Park, which is a half hour north of Greenville, SC, in the Smoky Mountains. Even though we got up at 5:00 am, got lost for two hours on the way there, and almost ran out of gas, when we finally got there, we were not at all tired. We set up our gear, met up with the other members of the Lowcountry Backpacker Association, and were ready to go. It was just breathtaking. Hiking the trail in those gorgeous mountains, with waterfalls everywhere and the only sounds being those of nature and the friendly chatter of our companions, all of the stress of recent weeks slowly seeped out of me, until I was left feeling quiet inside, relaxed, and focused on nothing but the placement of my feet. That night, we built a bonfire and roasted marshmallows, while sharing stories about ourselves... we got to bed late, got up early, and headed out again. This time, Anna and I decided to hike Ravencliff Falls, and because it was scheduled to rain, everyone else decided to go home. So we went on by ourselves, and encountered some of the most gorgeous scenery. The waterfall was huge, and when we got there, we walked over a rickety old bridge and looked down to the valley below. By that time it was raining and the drops felt like a cleanser on my skin, literally washing away every ounce of stress that was left. I don't know how to explain what it was like, except to say that it was "renewal." Anna and I talked all the way there and most of the way back, finally catching up on our friendship that had suffered due to our busy lives. 10 miles later, we reached our car and the hiking trip was over. Wet and hungry, we stopped on our drive home at a small country restaurant, and had the best Southern style buffet I've ever tasted. Then we sang country tunes along to the radio and finally made it home, spent, sore, and incredibly happy.

The Sweetest Thing

Yesterday I was in despair - trying to chose whether to take on a new job even though it would mean longer hours, be harder and pay less but be more rewarding... or whether to stick with what I have, which is admittedly fantastic most of the time... and well-- it was tough. Carter's there with me, I'm spewing out a million thoughts a minute, completely incapable of rationality and driving myself crazy by analyzing pros and cons.
Suddenly, he stands up quietly and takes me by the shoulders and leads me to my room. On my bed, he had laid out magnolia petals in the shape of a giant heart. Inside the first heart, he layered petals of a different color, and inside that, a third layer. Laying in the middle was an envelope. I opened it up, and found two tickets to Thursday's baseball game, with a hand-written invitation to join him. It was the sweetest thing.

Yuan Dao

"It is as if there was something one was yearning after.

Vaguely they feel as if something is missing,
Or as if pining after something lost.
Why is this?
Because not looking for the inward to please the external,
They were pleasing the inward with the external.
When the music starts, they feel happy,
But when the performance is over, they are sad.
With happiness and sadness giving rise alternatively to one another,
The spirit is thrown into turmoil
And cannot find a moment's peace.
If we seek for the cause behind this, we cannot get a hold of it,
Yet this is doing injury daily to one's vitality,
And failing to secure what is to be got.

Hence, failing to find it within oneself, one takes some external thing and uses it for ornament...

What issues forth from inside
Will not prevail unless there is response from the outside."

--Written 139 B.C.

Conundrum

It's strange to think of Buddhists, Daoists, or any people ascribing to Eastern religions as living in America. How do you do it? How do you find harmony, balance, simplicity, self-denial, etc. in America? Yoga class? Tai chi? It just seems like it would be very difficult to have to go so against the natural American (Western) grain of me-me-me and more-more-more and now-now-now.

Roadtrip to Augusta

The trip was great. I got to see my good friend Chris. On the way up there, I drove along the back country roads. It was breathtaking. America is beautiful, after all. Trees and pasture and cows and little run-down gas stations... the smell of summer, the open skies... it all combined to make me feel like I was a million miles away, even though it was only 2 hours. It was gorgeous. Then spending the day with Chris was fun... we went down to the Savannah river canal... walked along the side of it... took in the air, listened to the water, and talked about present, past, and future. Beat Chris at the Easter egg hunt which he bragged for WEEKS about how he was going to win... and then got beat by him in Scrabble... he really kicked my ass. He made a 75 point word: LOBSTER. Damnit. Ate so much food that I don't think I'll ever be hungry again... went to a bar with his friends and listened to them talk about their adolescence... what crazy kids. Then crashed and got up this morning. Left at 6 am sharp. Got up 40 minutes before that, went to sleep 6 hours before that. Drove 2:45 hrs on interstates to make it to work in time. Got home with 15 minutes to spare and decided to walk rather than drive. And so here I am. Monday morning. Tired but refreshed at the same time.

On a fantastic birthday

Yesterday was a great day. A wonderful way to usher in the big 2-3. The day itself was quite normal... with some more relaxation than usual... but the night, now that was splendid! My friend Siobhan came to pick me up and we went to a tapas sushi bar on James Island. It was really nice, and a little fancier than I ha expected. There were around 9 of my favorite people there at any given time of the night. After the food, we went to a more homey bar, where we could buy beer by the pitcher and play shuffle board and eat large quantities of fries. It was fantastic. All these people came to celebrate my birth, hang out with me, and make me feel special. I really did. I got more than slightly toasted... people buying shots everywhere, and I even got a free one on the bartender! :-) (I had to tell him it was my birthday!)
I played a kickass game of shuffleboard, got to hang out my really great friends, and even managed to slowdance with Carter to the pianoman singing "Georgia." Yeah. So it was great. :-)

Girl Goes for Guy Games

Okay, so my answer to the previous post is "yes" -- pretty much. But I found something more interesting to discuss for right now, so maybe i'll pick up on the morality topic later.

So Saturday night, I spent all night playing pool at my favorite bar. It was Carter and I, and we did really, really well for most of the night (three tequila shots and five beers later, my cue stick wasn't lining up quite right.) It was only the next day that I noticed something strange: I was pretty much the only woman playing pool. There were lots of women milling around the table, talking with the players, but none were really playing. At first, I just thought it was bizarre, but then I thought back to when I started playing pool at bars.

Initially, I was really intimidated to play pool in front of guys. I always wanted to, but didn't want to look like an idiot. Then, I started hanging out with lesbians, and I would go to the gay bar with them on Friday nights. There, it was only girls playing... and since I wasn't interested with flirting, I just played pool. I was not intimidated, because it was women playing, and even though they could kick my ass, I still felt comfortable. So then I translated that to my regular bars. And now I'm one of few female bar pool players in Charleston, at least. It's not that I'm good, but I can hold my own, and I don't care if I miss a shot. So why don't more women do it? Would I have ever broken that divide if it hadn't been for my lesbian bar adventure? I don't think so. There's something about the embarrassment factor -- it's like, if you encroach on a guy's sport you should either be able to kick their butts or you should set yourself up as helplessly in need of their support. But the fun thing about pool is that guys don't have a natural advantage, and anyone can pick up the skill relatively easily. So it's something about self-confidence, or lack thereof... it's something about getting past the point of caring, and just doing it to play. But it's bizarre, because it so rarely happens, at least in the bars around here. And I remember when I went to visit my friend Chris in Georgia that something similar occurred. We went to a party and people were playing some weird version of pool where you hit the balls on the sides of the table and have to run to the other side... and NO girl was playing. And I played, because it was a lot of fun, and one of the girls looked at me like I was made out of green cheese. I asked her if she wanted to play, and she laughed nervously and said something like, "I've never seen a girl play." But she didn't join me, and I scoffed at her in my mind for helping to perpetuate female stereotypes. I guess I just didn't realize I how lucky I was not to feel bounded by those gender roles. Crazy, huh?

Morality

Morality: An unwavering set of beliefs

True? or False?

My answer coming soon...

Missing Children

I just got this email about a missing child -- the request was to forward it on to as many people as possible, with the hope that somewhere she would be recognized. Well, before forwarding it on, I wanted to make sure that this girl really was missing. She was from SC, and I figured I would have heard something in the news or read something in the papers. So I looked up the national registry for missing children, and lo and behold, nothing matching her description was posted. I decided not to waste anybody else's time. Perhaps it's heartless of me, but I think it's awful to perpetuate a lie.
In any case, while looking up the national registry, I was really struck by some of the postings. Most of them were girls, teenagers, and I figured they probably ran away from home. Yet in some cases, the children had been missing for over 10 years. One post had the picture of a baby girl who has been missing for 14 years. It was so sad, because... well, first of all, she's pretty much guaranteed to be dead. And even if she isn't, there is no way that I would recognize a fourteen year old from her baby picture. So it's pointless to put it up there, if one's intent is to find her. And I don't think that that's the point. Somewhere, I can't help but think that her parents are still hoping for a miracle. And keeping her name on the registry is a way to hold on to that hope. It's depressing and it makes no sense. But, then again, I can't possibly imagine how tragic the loss of one's child would be.

Indeed

Vladimir: That passed the time.
Estragon: It would have passed in any case.
Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
--Samuel Beckett, "Waiting for Godot"

Why I am Cool #2

I knew the answer to yesterday's final Jeopardy question. The category was "20th century theatre." I bet $1 million in my head. And the answer was "Waiting for Godot." I so doubled up.

Fashion as Weapon

After WWI in Germany, there was a period of hyper inflation which caused a wool skirt priced at 14 marks during the war to cost 240 million marks by 1923. So many men had died during this bloodiest of wars that there was an incredible shortage of marriageable men. During this time of incredible poverty and despair, fashion came to play an important role. One German newspaper article entitled "Fashion as Weapon" said the following:

"Whenever the fight for daily bread becomes especially hard, when the selection of clothes becomes critically restricted, fashion types evolve that can only be understood if one views them as 'weapons.' In general, a woman does not want to desced from a higher to a lower social class. It is a fate that threatens her more than ever before in the terrible crisis we are having to live through right now. She does not want to commit gender suicide by becoming an unmarried victim, a fate that is caused by the decrease in men who are interested and able to marry. So fashion becomes a powerful means to show one's personal charm in the best light, even to heighten it, while perhaps risking that 'one's essence' may sometimes get lost behind a dazzling fashionable appearance."

This article was written in the 1920s, and if it weren't for the poverty aspect, it would still be incredibly applicable today. At least in Charleston. Most women here want to get married, and they use fashion as a weapon, for sure. And the result -- you have thousands of blonde, tanning-salon girls who go around looking the same in their Abercrombie clothes and Gucci purses, competing for the rich, Mount Pleasant jocks who will buy them diamond earrings. And beyond that you discover the ultimate truth -- that these girls for whom fashion is a weapon have also managed to lose, behind their "dazzling fashionable appearance" what the author called, "one's essence." Because they may be in with the times, but these times just make them look vapid and shallow. Perhaps I'd rather be out with the times then.

Mental Illness

I was talking to Carter last night about something which has stayed with me till this morning. What if people who have "mental illnesses" are actually people who are aware of a different reality? What if they have a heightened sensory perception which allows them to experience, "sense" as it were, the facets of life which we have conditioned ourselves out of believing? By that I mean that normal people have dubbed "psychotic" people as abnormal for seeing or feeling things that normal people do not see or feel. What if the things abnormal people see are just as real? How do we know that what they experience -- ESP, ghosts, spirits, nature talking -- is not real? Carter said that it was because majority rules -- 99% of people don't experience it, so it's not real. But 99% of people didn't believe that the earth was round until Galileo Galilei, and 99% of people didn't believe humans could walk on the moon until the late 1960s... and, and, and... yet those things happened. So why not think of people with mental illnesses as people who are aware of a world of which we are not? Why maintain the stereotypes and attempt to explain everything through the study of chemical imbalance? Surely scientists are the first to admit that what we know is only the tiniest fraction of what is knowable. Many of these questions are rhetorical, of course... but my main question remains. Is mental illness just a fabrication of the "normal" mind?

Now Reading

Nazi Chic: Fashioning Women in the Third Reich. by Irene Guenther.

You should read it, too!

P.S.

My friend John is engaged to be married. News came the day after the previous post. Inspite of my happiness for him, and the knoweldge that he will live a full and happy life with his soon to be wife, I just wanted to point out that John is 21. This, aside from being great news (because I really do believe that they will be happily married) just serves as further proof of what I was just saying. So. Yeah.

Great Balls of Fire

May I just say, I think the day just hit me, when I realized that I am starting to live in an adult world. And may I also just say, the hints were not so subtle. My roommate just bought a house. Her very own, with her very own money. She's 24. And my highschool sweetheart called me the other day to tell me that he is getting married. He's 22. All my other friends are working full-time jobs, starting to be financially secure, building little nest eggs for "the future." Goddamn.
And here I am, close to 23 years old and still in school (albeit graduate school); soon to be back living in a dorm, not working full-time, certainly not buying a house, and nowhere close to even considering the possibility of marriage. And for my birthday, while grownups go to dinner, I'm going to a Lynard Skynard concert to scream my lungs out to a group of leathery-skinned, raggedy-old hippies. Peter Pan syndrome? Perhaps.
It's not that I don't want to grow up. No, wait. Maybe it's just that. I don't want to grow up. I remember being a child and saying to mysef that old people were boring and I never wanted to be an adult. Because old people don't know how to have fun. I also remember the moment that I stopped considering myself a child.
I was riding my bike in our house in Turin. We lived in a sort of gated community, and I would always go up to the gate and say hello to the guard and help him push the buttons to open the gate so that they cars could get in and out. And when you are a child in Italy, you don't have to address adults with the formal "you," but when you are no longer a child, you are expected to be respectful towards adults by using the formal "you" ("lei" versus "tu"). So I was riding my bike up there, I must have been thirteen or so, and I stopped and panicked, because I didn't know how to address the guard. So instead of going there, I turned around and went back. I just thought about what it meant that I now belonged to a different social world, with rules that I was expected to follow, and customs I was meant to uphold. That's how I knew I was no longer a child. And it just made me sad.
And now, I'm close to that point where I'm no longer a girl, but becoming a woman. And that is even worse. Because all "girls just wanna have fun," and most women just want to get by. Adults settle. They buy houses, they get married, they raise families, they build financial security... they grow roots and bear fruit. And there's nothing wrong with that. Except that I think most adults grow roots in places where they are not given room to grow. They cultivate bonsai trees instead of California redwoods. And I like feeling like I'm a little seed, still "blowing with the wind," looking for that soil which will allow me to grow into a full-fledged human.
Okay. All of these TERRIBLE analogies and musical references aside (you can sigh relief now, I said it first) -- I don't want to grow up. And everyone around me is doing just that. And it scares me because I don't know whether I should get with the times or just "keep on keeping on."

Pre-Coffee Thursday

I'm at work. I've been here for 10 minutes. Nobody emailed me, so I feel my pre-coffee, even-more-undiluted-than-usual-urge to communicate with the world. And today this urge translates into the very rarest of communiques -- a movie review.

Yesterday my friends and I watched "War of Lords". It probably hasn't come out anywhere yet except English speaking countries. In any case, the movie was... without spoiling it for anyone... exceptional. Mais pourquois, you ask? Because in spite of being full of the usual Hollywood crap (which alas, is a lot of why I watch) it was able to relay an underlying truth about the world. As fantastic as it was (and I mean that in the literal sense), it was also realistic. Realistic to the point of depression, maybe... but certainly at least realistic to the point of awareness. It was a new cinematographic spin on a very old story... and I must say I recommend it to the general populace, and especially to the American one, which is slightly less acquainted, overall, to international afairs.

Why am I Cool?

Because I own one of these. Game on.

Looking Up

Today I'm getting my super fancy ACL brace. I will finally be able to play sports again.
The weather is beautiful, sun is shining - 80 degrees. And hopefully I'm getting my new phone today, too. Life is good.

An Oyster Roast

One of the great things about Charleston is its seafood tradition. The annual oyster roasts are believed by many Charlestonians to be the only saving grace of the winter months, since they afford the natives with an opportunity to go out, meet people, and stuff their faces with these delectable ocean mollusks.

So what is an oyster roast? It is an event to which you have to come prepared. You have to wear a coat, because it's going to be cold, and gloves, because oysters can cut your hands. You have to possess a "shucker" because some of those crazy little oysters have no intention to be eaten. Essentially what happens is that long plywood tables are set up with two square holes on either end. Everyone stands around the table, shuckers and gloves in hand and waits for the cook to bring out the oysters. They are thrown on the tables by the shovels, freshly boiled. As the steam starts to escape for the bounty of food, everyone digs in. You grab a cluster of oysters and start opening them with your shucker. Then you take the succulent fruit of your labor and enjoy its warmth and goodness before opening another. You throw the empty shell in the square hole, under which an enormous trash can has conveniently been placed. Mostly oyster roasts are social events in which people do not know each other, yet everyone is friendly and conversation comes easy. Once you've had your fill, you leave your spot and someone comes in to replace you. And that's how it goes until the oysters run out or your belly explodes.

What a fantastic Charleston tradition.

Letter to the Editor

Yay! My letter to the editor was finally published in Charleston's daily newspaper, the Post and Courier! You can read it at www.charleston.net

Preserve legacy

We are an inch away from potentially losing a significant part of African-American history in Charleston.
At 22 Elizabeth St. stands the New Tabernacle Fourth Baptist Church. It is a towering Gothic structure, constructed in 1859, with 20-foot windows, soaring vaults and a 55-foot ceiling.
This African-American church was led by the famous Rev. Daniel Jenkins, the founder of Jenkins Orphanage.
The church carries with it a historical and cultural meaning that far surpasses that of most buildings in Charleston. It stands as a testament to African-American achievement and pride and is included in most black history tours of the city.
Unfortunately for all of us, this structure is about to be converted into a theater.
By doing so, it will not only lose its function as a place of worship, but it will also start to wither away as a symbolic representation of African-American achievement.
It currently stands in the Mazyck-Wraggborough district, a historically black neighborhood, which has in large part fallen victim to gentrification. Yet on Sunday morning, there is nobody in this white neighborhood who does not recognize that this is a black church, and for those few hours of the day, these Charlestonians reclaim their historical presence, reminding the rest of the residents that times change and harmony does exist.
Every day when I walk past it, I am inspired by its presence and aware that I am witnessing living history.
I acknowledge the struggle of African-Americans, who sacrificed so much in a time when most had so little, in order to worship in a place that they could be proud of. It is a place of beauty, culture and history.
We should do everything in our power as a community, black and white alike, to ensure that this rich historical legacy is maintained for future generations.

JESSICA LANCIA

New Haircut (for Mamma)

This is my new haircut. The hair is a little less red now. I hope you can see it, Mamma.

Change

Without a doubt, one of the hardest things in life to deal with is change.
As an aspiring historian, I see it all the time, in resistance to social, political, or ideological movements. But it's also a really hard things to deal with when it comes to relationships between loved ones. Some of the best friends I've had I've lost due to relationships. Whether it was my own, or whether it was theirs. Because whenever two people fall in love, something changes.
Say your best friend falls in love. He's always told you his secrets, called you for advice, and left his phone on for your 2 AM drunken calls when all you needed to hear was his voice. Then he falls in love. And it's like a techtonic shift which causes a rift valley. Slowly, and with time, the rift grows larger. He tells his secrets to her instead of you, calls her for advice instead of you, and switches the phone off because well... c'mon now, we all know why.
And when you fall in love, well, that changes everything. It's been so many years since I've been in love now that it's almost hard to recall what love was, let alone when it died, and yet somehow I'll try.
When you fall in love, all else loses meaning. Everything is less important than it was, and nothing is as important as the two of you. The world could stop, the stars could fall, and all it would seem to you is a spectacle that honors your emotions. And then, it dies.
When love dies, it's always a slow death. And when it's finally over, and you've endured the agony of sleepless nights and dreary days, you wake up to find that nothing is how it was. And that is almost harder to bear than the death of love itself. Because it eats at you, every day. The questions: why did love end? when will it come back? will it ever come back? are like a shadow that follows you around, sometimes invisible because the sun is right above your head, but always there nonetheless.
And what is it that made life hard to deal with? It was the fact that change had taken place. And of course, then there is the obvious irony. Namely, that change is always taking place.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day was fantastic. I went to a blues/funk concert at the Pour House with a bunch of my single friends. We danced til we dropped, and I came home exhausted and happy. I really am glad to have such fantastic friends who make me feel so complete in myself and let me realize that I don't need to be with anyone because I have them. It's a blessing of which people are not always cognizant. So this goes down as one of the best Valentine's days I've had yet. No commercialization, no pressure, no feeling somehow inadequate because I'm not with someone, just me and my gals.

Chinese Texts

There is something fascinating about reading ancient Chinese texts. They are so modern; their ideas so relevant. Whether it's philosophy you're reading about, or the art of war, there is a lot to learn from the ancient Chinese. Many ideas that I thought came about with the advent of Christianity -- like "do unto others as you would unto yourself" -- are prevalent in Chinese philosophies which, like Confucious, predate Christianity!! Fascinating, really.

So where do our ideas come from? Did the Christians get them from the Jews who got them from the Chinese?

The more I learn about the past, the more I am able to analyze and understand modenity. And THAT, my friends, is one of the values of studying history.

This week has been hectic and crazy. I have been running around between work, babysitting, classes, homework, and doctor appointments. I had an MRI for my knee, which I injured again. I'm going in to see an orthopedist in a few minutes and I'm predicting the following diagnosis: ACL rupture with meniscus tear. Options: surgery or no sports. I want surgery because I love playing sports, but it is doubtful that my insurance will cover it. Problems that can't be fixed with surgery: knee arthritis which is sure to come as a result of the tears.

So in thinking about my knee I have been pissed off. Not the "why me" part of it - because with the wear and tear I have subjected my body to due to rugby and ultimate, it was bound to happen... but the "why can't I just fix it" part of it. I hate dealing with insurance, being worried about them not covering an expense and just in general not knowing how that system works.

I guess what pisses me off the most is that my body won't obey my will. But I have also been trying to see the bright side. I'm really not in a lot of pain and I do have a significant amount of mobility. Also, my friends have been great and I have spent a lot of time laughing. Yesterday, I cooked up some Indian food for dinner and had three friends over. We sat around the dinner table til late and watched the Duke game. I have been doing my best to escape reality and have managed to suceed at it every day somehow. The next step is just embracing reality, right?

I have class tonight - and I'm turning in my first paper in graduate school. I'm nervous - I hope it will be up to par, that I fulfilled my expectations.

And also, this week I realized something. Amidst all the craziness, hurt, and frustration -- at the end of the day, you are what you have to show to yourself. No big hoopla... no universal truth... it was just something that I don't think I spent a lot of time remembering recently. So it came back to my radar screen. That's all.

The Spark

This poem does not fit into me completely, it is more like a partially-fitting poem. But it sure is well-spoken, and I enjoyed reading it, so I thought I'd share.

The Spark
by Countee Cullen

Stamp hard, be sure
We leave no spark
That may allure
This placid dark.
At last we learn
That love is cruel;
Fire will not burn
Lacking fuel.

Here, take your heart,
The whole of it;
I want no part,
No smallest bit.
And this is mine?
You took scant care;
My heart could shine;
No glaze was there.

Young lips hold wine
The fair world over;
New heads near mine
Will dent the clover;
We need not pine
Now this is over.

Now love is dead
We might be friends;
'Tis best instead
To say all ends,
And when we meet
Pass quickly by;
Oh, speed your feet,
And so will I.

I know a man
Thought a spark was dead
That flamed and ran
A brighter red,
And burned the roof
Above his head.