You know. The morning after you have some very bizarre dreams. I dreamt that the Joker had fallen in love with me and after sequestering me in a building that seemed to be a cross between a hospital and a hotel, sent me a note that said that if I didn't agree to meet him at a particular time and place to marry him that he would kill me and blow up my family. I was determined to get out of it somehow and the Joker sent one of this thugs to come rappeling in through the ceiling to capture me. I subdued him, Bourne style, and it ended with the thug's dead body slumped over the bathtub. I escaped out of the window, got to some safe place somehow, and then my cell phone rang. It was the Joker. I didn't answer it, but a message scrolled across the display: "YOU HAVEN'T ESCAPED ME YET . . . I'M COMING TO GET YOU!" I woke up. It was so unsettling.
I usually get up to go to the rec, but I couldn't. No matter how many times I hit the snooze button, my eyes still felt tired when I opened them. And it's not like I went to bed late last night.
Determined to at least make it to Portuguese class, I made it out in time to catch one of the ridiculously crowded morning buses. This morning was not the morning for me to be in crunched, uncomfortable quarters with people. When you're in these uncomfortable situations, you can't help it, but you can make it a little easier, like, not facing the person you're right next to. This girl got on and proceeded to stand looking me dead in the face. What is the matter with her? Can you turn yourself to the side? Or at least turn your head to the side? I turned my head away and looked away, but she was still right there. I'm not saying she was staring at me. But her face was right there, and it was making me want to unexist.
There was one crazy thought that, darn it, prompted a few tears to escape right there on the crowded bus: My mother wants grandchildren.
I hate it when I'm in a cloudy state of mind and people feel the need to comment on it and/or playfully wave their hand in front of my face because I'm staring out into space. Stop trying to break me out of my introspective world. I know I'm usually perky, but today I'm taking a break. I left my perkiness on the shelf today next to the Nutella. Which I ran out of the other day.
I hate it when I hear people appropriate African-American slang that they know they don't seriously use. While waiting in the Jittery Joe's line (my plan for mood improvement was a white mocha and a chocolate croissant), I heard this pallid hipster say, "Yeah, I gotta go meet my boo. Ha, ha." Shut UP. You sound so stupid saying that. You think it's cute and hip to say words like "boo" as if they're an exotic trinket you can nonchalantly flash whenever you want, but you actually sound dumb, and I wanted to step out of line and trip you as you walked away.
Geez, I am so mean today. I'm glad that my meanness is introverted and that my niceness is extroverted. That way, people think I'm nice.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
So . . .
The semester's in full swing, which means I'm a busy little bee. Got lots of little irons in the fire. Reading galore, Kaplan tutoring student on the side, freelance translator on the side, pro bono editor on the side. I've got Skype dates for language practice, I've got dates set for a graduate student panel I'm organizing. I'm trying to make something Brazilian happen next summer. I'm trying to present another paper this spring. Keep it together, baby. Keep it together.
Had my church guitar debut. Not that it was anything so great, but just the fact that I was able to play and sing a couple of worship songs was something that I never dreamed I would be able to do just a year ago. It was a great feeling. It's been a year since I had my first guitar lesson. And now my guitar instructor is gone! Still trying to decide whether I want to try to find someone else.
I'm enjoying getting more involved. Getting more involved in church. Getting more involved in the department.
There are still so many unknowns. So many of them. But I'm thankful that I'm able to live in the uncertainty. It's so wonderful not to be burdened by it.
There's a guy in the department who has apparently developed a little crush on me. I can't address any passive aggressive letters to him on my blog because he's nice enough. It's not like he's done anything inappropriate. But he does sort of get up in my personal space just a tad. And you know how I am about that. And I despise being caught in the computer lab with him by myself. It's just awkward. I should have never let him know that I speak French. And now he's asked when we're going to lunch together. Umm . . . jamais?
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm kind of feeling the idea of marrying an old man with money. Like, if a younger-than-my-dad older guy tried to holla at me who had some CHC (cold hard cash) in the mix, I would be down. Pay off my (relatively modest bit of) student loans, travel around, have an artist's studio set up for me and I could take painting lessons and become an acclaimed local artist. Have a couple of bambinos and I would make all of their baby food with vegetables I would grow in the garden. Yup.
Had my church guitar debut. Not that it was anything so great, but just the fact that I was able to play and sing a couple of worship songs was something that I never dreamed I would be able to do just a year ago. It was a great feeling. It's been a year since I had my first guitar lesson. And now my guitar instructor is gone! Still trying to decide whether I want to try to find someone else.
I'm enjoying getting more involved. Getting more involved in church. Getting more involved in the department.
There are still so many unknowns. So many of them. But I'm thankful that I'm able to live in the uncertainty. It's so wonderful not to be burdened by it.
There's a guy in the department who has apparently developed a little crush on me. I can't address any passive aggressive letters to him on my blog because he's nice enough. It's not like he's done anything inappropriate. But he does sort of get up in my personal space just a tad. And you know how I am about that. And I despise being caught in the computer lab with him by myself. It's just awkward. I should have never let him know that I speak French. And now he's asked when we're going to lunch together. Umm . . . jamais?
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm kind of feeling the idea of marrying an old man with money. Like, if a younger-than-my-dad older guy tried to holla at me who had some CHC (cold hard cash) in the mix, I would be down. Pay off my (relatively modest bit of) student loans, travel around, have an artist's studio set up for me and I could take painting lessons and become an acclaimed local artist. Have a couple of bambinos and I would make all of their baby food with vegetables I would grow in the garden. Yup.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Internationality
It just made me think about my life as a citizen of the world. Born in Mississippi. Spent my childhood in the heel of Italy's boot. Spent the rest of my adolescence through college years in Alabama, sans Southern accent. Took forays into Spain and France (let me not forget about little side trips to Portugal and Germany, oh, and a Spring Break missions trip to Mexico), picked up and lost Italian, picked up and kept Spanish and French. Currently working on Portuguese. Able to smile at the surprise of Koreans, Chinese, Japanese, Arabs and now Turks that I can greet them in their language. ("That's all I know, though!")
It's a life that I should be thankful for. That I've been given opportunities to travel and learn and connect with people from all different cultures and walks of life. So many worlds open up to you when you learn foreign languages. So, where are you from? Wait, so where were you born? Okay, where are your parents from? Ha. In other words, what is my life story?
Two things I associate with my childhood: Kinder Eggs and Parmalat milk.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Ramadan
Tonight was the second time I've ever been inside of a mosque.
The first time was when I was studying abroad in Spain several years ago. One of the courses I was taking was "Cultural Diversity in Spain," and we went to the Islamic cultural center in Madrid. Women were asked to cover their heads before entering, and all of us removed our shoes. Our small group of idealistic young Americans was alongside a group of elderly Spanish seniors. After a little intro from the guide, he opened up the floor for questions. One of the seniors asked (in a somewhat belligerent tone) about the term "jihad." Unfazed, the guide answered calmly. Then I raised my hand. I'm a question kind of a gal. I had three questions: 1. What does it say on that sign? (there was large circular sign at the front of the room in Arabic), 2. Why do women have to wear a head covering? and 3. Why are Muslim men allowed to have more than one wife? I heard approving murmurs from the Spanish seniors. Buenas preguntas, eh? The guide smiled. Tu eres muy joven, he began. You're very young. 1. I don't remember (as in, I literally don't remember what his answer was, but it was something about Allah), 2. Depending on country and customs, women are not obligated to wear a covering at all times, only when they pray. 3. Polygamy doesn't have to do with Islam, rather with certain Muslim cultures. In some cultures, it's acceptable, in others it is not. Then we went downstairs and had Moroccan food.
But back to tonight. A friend from Turkey invited me to a Ramadan "breaking of the fast" dinner. When we arrived, the prayers were in session. We put on scarves to cover our heads, removed our shoes and went inside. I sat off to the side observing as the imam intoned during the prayers. The women bowed. They rose. They bowed their heads to the floor. They rose. Why was my friend speaking to some of the others in English? Because they didn't all speak the same language. Several languages were present; I'm guessing Arabic, Turkish, Urdu, and Farsi, to name a few. After the prayer, we all went into another room to eat. Rice with chickpeas, chicken, salad and rice pudding for dessert. What was amazing to me was the diversity of everyone there. I saw brown Pakistani women in sari-like dresses. There were women with blue eyes and blond hair. There were black women. There were Arab women. There were women with long sleeves, long skirts and a head covering. There were women in jeans and a t-shirt with their hair completely uncovered. Once we left the prayer area and sat down to eat, my friend took her scarf off. So did I.
I relish the times when I'm able to get a peek into a world that's different from my own. It's something I think we could all stand to do more often.
The first time was when I was studying abroad in Spain several years ago. One of the courses I was taking was "Cultural Diversity in Spain," and we went to the Islamic cultural center in Madrid. Women were asked to cover their heads before entering, and all of us removed our shoes. Our small group of idealistic young Americans was alongside a group of elderly Spanish seniors. After a little intro from the guide, he opened up the floor for questions. One of the seniors asked (in a somewhat belligerent tone) about the term "jihad." Unfazed, the guide answered calmly. Then I raised my hand. I'm a question kind of a gal. I had three questions: 1. What does it say on that sign? (there was large circular sign at the front of the room in Arabic), 2. Why do women have to wear a head covering? and 3. Why are Muslim men allowed to have more than one wife? I heard approving murmurs from the Spanish seniors. Buenas preguntas, eh? The guide smiled. Tu eres muy joven, he began. You're very young. 1. I don't remember (as in, I literally don't remember what his answer was, but it was something about Allah), 2. Depending on country and customs, women are not obligated to wear a covering at all times, only when they pray. 3. Polygamy doesn't have to do with Islam, rather with certain Muslim cultures. In some cultures, it's acceptable, in others it is not. Then we went downstairs and had Moroccan food.
But back to tonight. A friend from Turkey invited me to a Ramadan "breaking of the fast" dinner. When we arrived, the prayers were in session. We put on scarves to cover our heads, removed our shoes and went inside. I sat off to the side observing as the imam intoned during the prayers. The women bowed. They rose. They bowed their heads to the floor. They rose. Why was my friend speaking to some of the others in English? Because they didn't all speak the same language. Several languages were present; I'm guessing Arabic, Turkish, Urdu, and Farsi, to name a few. After the prayer, we all went into another room to eat. Rice with chickpeas, chicken, salad and rice pudding for dessert. What was amazing to me was the diversity of everyone there. I saw brown Pakistani women in sari-like dresses. There were women with blue eyes and blond hair. There were black women. There were Arab women. There were women with long sleeves, long skirts and a head covering. There were women in jeans and a t-shirt with their hair completely uncovered. Once we left the prayer area and sat down to eat, my friend took her scarf off. So did I.
I relish the times when I'm able to get a peek into a world that's different from my own. It's something I think we could all stand to do more often.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
The Last Lesson of My 20s
I was doing some thinking today, and I think the last life lesson that I solidified before turning 30 is this: You can never, ever enter a relationship expecting the other person to change.
It's simply wrong. It's selfish, misguided, and even risky. Like, if you're even thinking about going into something with the idea of changing someone as one of the stipulations of it "working out," it's a guarantee that it's SO not going to work out.
Like, think about it the other way around. What if someone were interested in you, but had an underlying purpose of changing some aspect of who you are or the way you live your life in order to suit their purposes? It seems almost offensive. Again, it's just wrong.
It's human nature, though. That's for sure. I had to learn a few hard lessons before getting that one down.
It's simply wrong. It's selfish, misguided, and even risky. Like, if you're even thinking about going into something with the idea of changing someone as one of the stipulations of it "working out," it's a guarantee that it's SO not going to work out.
Like, think about it the other way around. What if someone were interested in you, but had an underlying purpose of changing some aspect of who you are or the way you live your life in order to suit their purposes? It seems almost offensive. Again, it's just wrong.
It's human nature, though. That's for sure. I had to learn a few hard lessons before getting that one down.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Reclaim the Monkey
Getting into my little workout routine. It's funny how the more you do something, the easier it gets. I started out going 2 miles in 30 minutes on the elliptical, working at level 1 and having to take a break every ten minutes. Now I'm going 3 miles in 30 minutes, working at level 4 and taking no breaks at all. Still not a workout queen . . . that's not even my goal. But it's funny how something can go from exhausting to invigorating in a relatively short amount of time. But now I'm trying to get my abs on point, and my middle bro is giving me these crunches to do. No joke. But the hardest one is the plank: Get into a position as if you were going to do push ups, but rest on your forearms instead of your hands. Now, push your body slightly upwards onto your toes, keeping your weight rested on your forearms and keeping your body as straight as possible. Can you hold that position for 30 seconds? Ooh, but I could feel the burn.
Tonight was the release party for a new CD which doubled as a goodbye party for my guitar instructor and his family. I am really going to miss him. I started out knowing absolutely nothing about the guitar, and in less than a year's time, I've come so far. I might find a new instructor, and I might not. I like to think that we are irreplaceable.
I'm thankful for mentors that God has placed in my life. Recently, I had a nice chat with someone who has been a professor, minister, counselor and a friend to me and it seems like everything he says is exactly what my brain and spirit need to hear. It sounds weird, but people like him stop me from feeling alone. He knows how to successfully navigate the worlds I'm navigating right now, and he is living, godly proof that I don't have to choose. I refuse to allow anyone to force my hand.
I love monkeys. Cute, cartoonish monkeys. Particularly Curious George. If/when I have children, everything they have is going to be monkey/Curious George related. I really can't explain my attachment to him. I just think Curious George is so cute and I love him and I want other children, especially my own, to love him too. The tiny problem is that "monkey" has been historically used as a negative slur against black people, and do I want my kids to be branded with monkey imagery? (Sigh. The quandaries I create for my poor nonexistent children.) But I've decided that the solution is to reclaim the monkey. I will cleanse the stigma of monkeyness and I will refashion monkality for my purposes and rebrand it as a symbol of cute, fun-loving power.
I saw bunches of sunflowers on sale at Kroger for $6.99. Oh, they were lovely. Since I seem to be having trouble birthing my own sunbabies, I have no qualms about adoption.
Friday, August 03, 2012
Sometimes
I want a sunflower-filled refuge.
I want a place where I can have my cake and eat it too. If I have a cake, how on earth are you going to expect me to not want to eat it too?
I want to be able to exist, tensionless, in this world. I don't want you to make me feel bunched up in two extremes at the same time. I want to be able to embrace you as you are and not feel forced to divide you up. I put you over here . . . and I put you over there . . . and you can stay right here . . . and you move over just a little bit there . . . Like I'm placing an invisible sticker on everybody's forehead with a number that indicates emotional distance. No. I don't want to feel like I have on these covert layers.
I want to dash cognitive dissonance into a million pieces. Away with you, dichotomies! Away with you, either/or. Away with you, pinched face, demanding lines in the sand. I can like Curious George and Edgar Allan Poe. I can want curly-haired, dimpled, chocolate-smudged faces and a PhD. I can make a PowerPoint and strut in high heels and make mashed potatoes. I can like Christian Southern roots rock and Motown oldies. I can steel myself against self-righteous churchgoers and academicians.
I want my own language. Don't force me to speak yours. Don't try to shove words into my mouth or try to coax them out. Especially if you aren't a wordsmith. Especially if the mold of your own mouth was cast in a one-track block. Especially if you don't know how my words form or where they come from.
I want the world-weary cynics to stop being so smug. Do you think you're the only ones enlightened and tired?
I want that moment when my guitar sounds like a mellow bell. When our eyes first meet. When the sun gently nudges me awake.
I want a place where I can have my cake and eat it too. If I have a cake, how on earth are you going to expect me to not want to eat it too?
I want to be able to exist, tensionless, in this world. I don't want you to make me feel bunched up in two extremes at the same time. I want to be able to embrace you as you are and not feel forced to divide you up. I put you over here . . . and I put you over there . . . and you can stay right here . . . and you move over just a little bit there . . . Like I'm placing an invisible sticker on everybody's forehead with a number that indicates emotional distance. No. I don't want to feel like I have on these covert layers.
I want to dash cognitive dissonance into a million pieces. Away with you, dichotomies! Away with you, either/or. Away with you, pinched face, demanding lines in the sand. I can like Curious George and Edgar Allan Poe. I can want curly-haired, dimpled, chocolate-smudged faces and a PhD. I can make a PowerPoint and strut in high heels and make mashed potatoes. I can like Christian Southern roots rock and Motown oldies. I can steel myself against self-righteous churchgoers and academicians.
I want my own language. Don't force me to speak yours. Don't try to shove words into my mouth or try to coax them out. Especially if you aren't a wordsmith. Especially if the mold of your own mouth was cast in a one-track block. Especially if you don't know how my words form or where they come from.
I want the world-weary cynics to stop being so smug. Do you think you're the only ones enlightened and tired?
I want that moment when my guitar sounds like a mellow bell. When our eyes first meet. When the sun gently nudges me awake.
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
Get Yourself Together
It's not just something that you have to do. It's a state of mind.
Okay. You've had your little trips. You've done your little chilling. You've had your little time. Now it's time to kick it back into gear. Now it's time to Get Yourself Together.
Fall semester is just around the corner and you haven't decided on your classes yet? Um, I'm gonna have to ask you to Get Yourself Together.
Whining and worrying about people trying to talk to you, not knowing what to do, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Um, why are you expending precious mind energy on these cats? You need all the brain juice you can muster up. Who says you have to do anything concerning them anyway? Talk to who you want to talk to and don't talk to who you don't want to talk to. That simple. No reason to go into existential mode. Like, I said, it's time to Get Yourself Together.
Ranting about your slight weight gain? Clothes on the verge of feeling uncomfortably filled out (even though you haven't officially gone up a size)? Well, there's a rec center at your disposal with your butt's name written on it. Ain't nobody stopping you. Get Yourself Together.
Just cause you made a little extra dough teaching test prep doesn't mean that you don't have bills to pay and that you don't need to keep track of your spending. Oh, I got your attention now, don't I? I have a little 3-step program you need to follow: 1. Get. 2. Yourself. 3. Together.
Drive back to your little nest, make a shopping list and replenish your fridge, pay your bills, choose your classes and get to work! Woman up, honey. You know what time it is. It's not time to mope. It's not time to freak out. It's not time to let your eyes glaze over in nostalgic reminiscence. It's time to Get Yourself Together!
Okay. You've had your little trips. You've done your little chilling. You've had your little time. Now it's time to kick it back into gear. Now it's time to Get Yourself Together.
Fall semester is just around the corner and you haven't decided on your classes yet? Um, I'm gonna have to ask you to Get Yourself Together.
Whining and worrying about people trying to talk to you, not knowing what to do, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Um, why are you expending precious mind energy on these cats? You need all the brain juice you can muster up. Who says you have to do anything concerning them anyway? Talk to who you want to talk to and don't talk to who you don't want to talk to. That simple. No reason to go into existential mode. Like, I said, it's time to Get Yourself Together.
Ranting about your slight weight gain? Clothes on the verge of feeling uncomfortably filled out (even though you haven't officially gone up a size)? Well, there's a rec center at your disposal with your butt's name written on it. Ain't nobody stopping you. Get Yourself Together.
Just cause you made a little extra dough teaching test prep doesn't mean that you don't have bills to pay and that you don't need to keep track of your spending. Oh, I got your attention now, don't I? I have a little 3-step program you need to follow: 1. Get. 2. Yourself. 3. Together.
Drive back to your little nest, make a shopping list and replenish your fridge, pay your bills, choose your classes and get to work! Woman up, honey. You know what time it is. It's not time to mope. It's not time to freak out. It's not time to let your eyes glaze over in nostalgic reminiscence. It's time to Get Yourself Together!
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