Dear President Obama,
Weed is harmless - more so than the very legal and regulated Cigarette and Booze Industries - and you know it.
Wall Street is dangerous and you know it.
Government control and taxation of Marijuana, whether strictly medicinal or recreational, could bring in billions of dollars and you know it.
The people are telling you what they want.
They're screaming it in the streets. Literally.
Why aren't you listening?
What happened to being on the right side of history?
I knew people expected way too much of you, but it's not like you haven't done anything right. You've done a lot of great things that have gone unnoticed and unpublicized.
It's obvious you're going to go down in history no matter what - so what's the deal?
And yeah, there are totally bigger things to worry about. All the more reason to just stop the madness.
Here's to hoping you fix this, or somebody runs in 2012 who will.
-L.
Showing posts with label Pop Culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pop Culture. Show all posts
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Everyone must believe what they are doing is right, or else implode.
I'm a PC girl. Apple computers are too much like toys to me. I like to be able to hack my system. Apples shut you out and hold your hand for the most simple tasks.
Anyway, with that said, here's what this post is really about:
I've been scared that I'm sick. I'm scared that because I don't have money for my own personal doctor, I'm going to go undiagnosed, and I'm going to die younger than I want to. My life started with a death - my Gram's death - so this kind of "existential dread" is not outside the scope of my experience. It's not my imagination, playing tricks. Not everybody gets a happy ending.
And then, there's this:
"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart." - Steve Jobs 2005
One of the most exciting things in the world to me is resonance. I remember coming up with these ideas as a little girl - hell it still happens today - and then I find what I'm talking about in some book or movie or essay by somebody we hold up as genius, or important, or influential. Maybe I sound like an asshole when I say this - but if it's ever happened to you - then you understand - you're who I'm trying to reach out to.
I think this fear is what drove me to finally open this blog up to the world. It's been online for just two days now and already I've had almost 800 hits. As exciting as that is, it's darkened by the fact that only five readers have made comments - have reached back - and not necessarily by commenting on the blog itself.
Please, I don't care if you agree. I don't mind if you think I'm nuts. Please just tell me what you think. Maybe you don't believe what you think matters, but it matters to me. Not because I'm going to be sad if you don't like what I write - if you don't like me - but because I'm trying to figure out just what I'm dealing with. What world I'm living in.
Part of why I love writing so much can be summed up in this quote:
"It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense." - Mark Twain
The world is scary to me. People are scary to me. Further, I think I'm scary to them. The only way I've been able to make sense of it is through the lessons that fiction has taught me. People have motivations, even if they're not very rational. Everyone must believe what they are doing is right, or else implode. Our language, gestures, casual choices often betray our real feelings. Things usually work out in the end, even if "working out" really means "not existing". It's important to be brave. It's important to care. It's important to choose not to be evil.
I don't believe in religion. I don't believe in MTV. I don't totally believe in Politics, in private Health Care, in Authority. If you do, alright. We all need hope, love, meaning - no matter where we find it.
So, in the face of death - whether imagined or simply feared - I've offered this up. I'm brave. I care. I'm not evil.
And if - and when - I die - at least I tried.
At least I took the path less traveled.
I've lived by my personal mantra that expression is existence.
I hope someday I can stand in front of a crowd and say, with all honesty: and that has made all the difference.
As usual, it hit me in the shower.
Think of it this way: One voice may Lead, but many voices Change.
Do you want to follow or do you want to participate? It's your choice.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Lucky 21: a mini memoir
“It’s like I’m a piece of cheese and they’re two mice, fighting over me, playing tug-of-war, pulling me apart.”
I had to be about 6 or 7. The psychiatrist, I forget his name now, was impressed. I don’t remember how my Mom and Gram responded, but it’s the first time I ever remember feeling proud of myself. In a year or so, I’d have my very own counselor to listen to my worldview – Glenda (loads of Oz jokes there) would take me out of class and we’d play games in the school cafeteria - but this was a family therapy session.
Today, language is a big part of not only how I see the world, but how I fit into it. 90% of the time, even my close friends simply cannot relate to me - and in many ways, nor I to them. It’s only through writing that I’ve been able to sort through my life, and it’s writing which has given me any hope of a brighter future.
I’ve thought a lot about how I want to execute this short essay. I could – and have – done long, lovely, "heartbreaking" accounts of my experiences, but this time I’ve decided to tell just the facts:
1) I am lucky beyond all reason.
2) I was born in December of 1989.
3) My parents are L. A. G. and A. M. E. Both have a long history of mental illness, including paranoid schizophrenia and manic depressive disorder. They never really had a relationship and never married. I knew the real meaning of “bastard” from a very early age.
4) I lived with my mother for the first year of my life, at which point she had a psychotic episode and Social Services placed me with my Gram in Adams, Mass.
5) In Adams, I lived with my Gram and older sister. She was 12 or 13 when I was born. The identity of her father is unknown.
6) We were poor, but Gram was pretty good at not letting us feel it. Only in retrospect do the constant TV dinners seem at all unusual. The language of the house was a better indicator, Gram was rough. Often angry. She swore so profusely that she’d often make up her own curses. I must have been attracted to her boldness though because I still remember her growling “What do you think I am, a goddamn story teller?!” after what must have been my 100th plea for her attention. It didn’t stop me from asking a 100 and 1 or 100 and 2nd time.
7) My sister moved out of the house at 16, and had a nervous breakdown at 18. She then married a man who she felt she was helping out. She is currently 35 and often wiggles her way into my life only to use me. “We’re sisters, we’re supposed to hate each other”, she often said. She has helped me too, when she could. It's a double edged sword, and she has her own traumas to attend to.
8) I lived with my Gram until I was 9, when she died. Unfortunately, I was present at her death. I have been prescribed Effexor XR by medical professionals at Ithaca College to treat PTSD, anxiety, and depression.
9) After Gram died, I lived in foster care for a year or so. I hated it. As you can tell by now, I'm trying to spare you deeply emotional details.
10) Summer before 5th grade, my Dad was granted custody. I was a daddy’s girl and loved living with him, mainly because I did whatever I wanted. Later it would look a lot more like neglect than privilege. Only two months together, however, I was accepted to the Milton Hershey School (MHS) in Hershey, PA.
11) MHS is a completely free, K-12, boarding school for underprivileged children, funded by the chocolate and candy sales of the Hershey Company. Yes, every time you’ve bought a Hershey product, you’ve paid for my education, or the education of someone in even worse circumstances – of which there are many. The environment is a cross between an orphanage and military school. Students live in studenthomes of about 12 or 13 people of the same gender. Kids come from all across the United States and represent an almost unnatural (but amazing! I would even say ideal) microcosm of races, religions, and obstacles, though our poverty and horror stories connect us as a school family. We’re supervised at all times by a set of married, Christian, rule-abiding houseparents. Students do chores, attend Chapel (seeing a theme here? I was never one for religion), and we live according to a merit system. In exchange, the school provides food, clothing, housing, braces, glasses, doctors, education – including a laptop and upwards of $75,000 for college – at no charge whatsoever. It was both a miracle and a living nightmare for me. It was a necessity.
12) From 5th through 7th grade, I lived with strict Christian houseparents who I feel I can genuinely say mentally abused us all and set us against each other. They terrified me. I only ever wanted their love (which I thought meant their approval) and it was my own downfall. However, all my other houseparents were perfectly well meaning people who didn't make me shake with fear, though sometimes squirm with embarrassment.
13) Academically, I found a home in the classroom at MHS that I didn’t have at C.T. Plunkett Elementary in Adams. I wasn't a "smart kid" until I started going to MHS. It was also my escape from the student home. In 6th grade, I was introduced to reading through the Harry Potter books. They were banned in Eastmore for being full of such blatant Satanism as children being out of bed, and so I had to sneak the books in and read them as quick as I could. I’d just finished Prisoner of Azkaban when my roommate told on me, and I had to stand in front of everyone and promise never to do witchcraft. At least then the books were allowed. Later, when I studied for the SATs in high school, I re-read the whole series and believe my score was directly correlated to that. Not that the SATs, or really any external value system, holds much weight with me these days.
14) Anyway, besides mathematics, the learning environment there really nurtured me. My teachers liked me, and due to the size of the school, I gained a reputation which got me out of trouble on more than one occasion – to the resentment, it seemed, of my peers. I didn't feel like I had a lot of friends though I wished they would like me. I kept close to only a few people at a time and believed it was better that way, though I regret not reaching out more now. In 8th grade, I started sleeping a lot and feeling disconnected but I dealt with it by keeping a journal. I now have digitized journal entries from every year since I was 12 years old. I did it just to feel like my life had some cohesion.
15) In high school I lost my appetite for books and saw myself stop reading outside of assignments, and then I didn’t even read those. However, no matter what I did, I still got As and Bs (again, outside of math). I was known by the other kids for being four things:
1. intelligent (in the know-it-all, I make people feel insecure kind of way)
2. bold (had my moments)
3. artistic
4. white as they come (which I got the message meant being out of touch, especially awkward and aggressively emo)
16) My proudest memory of MHS was earning a “Spartan H” for Varsity Swimming because I knew it was unexpected, even though the sport itself would send me into panic attacks.
17) I often wonder if the school legitmately prepared me for the world I would find myself living in.
18) I chose my college for its a) distance from home (far as allowed) and b) writing program. I dreamt that college was where I’d always belonged and I saw it as a utopia filled with “normal, public school people” that actually gave a shit about learning and were as intellectually curious as I was without all the dysfunctional drama. Without the psychosis that gets passed on, sometimes inevitably. I have been utterly disillusioned, but I’ve also learned a lot of important things. I've learned most people - no matter their background - just don't give themselves enough credit. I've learned that we live in a culture designed to make us hate ourselves. I've learned that problems are relative, but even so, they don't define us - our reactions, our choices, are what should define who we are. If we lived by our choices, with our thoughts out in the open, we might realize we have more in common than we ever believed possible.
19) Spring 2011 I spent the semester abroad where I earned my CELTA which allows me to teach English as a foreign language. This is what I wrote in my final reflection for the course:
“This course has been a challenge for me, and therefore it has also been an absolute pleasure. Throughout my academic career I have seldom felt challenged, though I always manage to obtain a high grade. I’ve become accustomed to skipping homework and generally procrastinating because my intellectual abilities have outweighed my behavior. I’ve sensed for a long time that I wasn’t really learning much in the classroom – that I was missing a deeper understanding – but for some reason whatever I did was declared ‘good enough’ by my teachers and so I have carried on this way until now.
In this course, I couldn’t rely on my writing abilities. I couldn’t rely on my memory to sponge up the material and then wring it out during a final exam. I have my own theories about intelligence. One part of it is that everyone has their own sense of intelligence. There are no stupid people, only uninformed or misinformed people. Further, those who excel in the classroom are able to learn in more various ways than the average person. They have visual, auditory, and tactile awareness of the material no matter how it’s presented. These learning styles do not necessarily translate into teaching styles, however. This course has taught me the difference between practice and theory.”
20) On September 29th of this semester, I had a conference with ZZ Packer as part of the Distinguished Visiting Writers program. The story she read is about a 12 year old Mexican boy named Julian Ellis and his journey through foster care. ZZ really liked it. It was the happiest day of my life – I don’t think she realized it, but her validation of my writing ability was a validation of my life. My only disappointment is my need for that validation. Nevertheless, the connections between my life experiences and the elements of that story are undeniable. The idea that I had gone through shit – all this shit you’ve now read - and now it was worth something – that I have value – it was, it is, like breaking through ice.
21) 21 – my current age – my current stage in life. I’m an oddball case, and I know it. I’ve been both a bookworm and a stoner. I’ve been both a basket case and a leader. A suck up. A rebel. A visionary. A common piece of "white trash". I want to belong, but at the same time, I want to get the hell out. Now, on what might possibly be the brink of a new life – a writer’s life – I’m once again that cheese, tugged between two worlds, part of neither. So what’s a girl to do but go back to the beginning.
Fact number one: I am lucky beyond all reason.
When I was a baby, my mother could have killed me. When I was a child, my Gram’s death and foster care and MHS could have sucked out my soul. When I was a teen, the kids in school and the overwhelming authority of countless rules and policies could have gotten to me. And without MHS I may have never gone to college - at least not a private one that's for sure. When I got to college – that fact alone lucky in itself – I could have given up, and I wanted to many, many times. In Europe I could’ve let my past control my happiness. This semester, I could’ve gone home, done with it all – done with fighting an invisible monster. Be drowned by depression and stress. But I can’t. I can’t because I’m lucky. I have no reasonable, simple, explanation for being here, but I am. So I have to keep going – I owe it to everyone who deserved just as much to be in my place. I owe it to my Gram who gave up her golden years to raise her daughter’s daughters. I owe it to talented friends who just didn’t have enough to finish their degrees. I owe it to myself, because we all need hope, love, and meaning – no matter where we find it. And if I ever do “make it”, then I’ll shed light on this dark world that 90% of even my close friends can hardly imagine, one that has sucked so many worthy minds and hearts into oblivion.
That’s my discourse, that’s where I’m coming from. That’s my story.
Any questions? Feel less alone? E-mail me:wonderverse42@gmail.com DEFUNCT
I had to be about 6 or 7. The psychiatrist, I forget his name now, was impressed. I don’t remember how my Mom and Gram responded, but it’s the first time I ever remember feeling proud of myself. In a year or so, I’d have my very own counselor to listen to my worldview – Glenda (loads of Oz jokes there) would take me out of class and we’d play games in the school cafeteria - but this was a family therapy session.
Today, language is a big part of not only how I see the world, but how I fit into it. 90% of the time, even my close friends simply cannot relate to me - and in many ways, nor I to them. It’s only through writing that I’ve been able to sort through my life, and it’s writing which has given me any hope of a brighter future.
I’ve thought a lot about how I want to execute this short essay. I could – and have – done long, lovely, "heartbreaking" accounts of my experiences, but this time I’ve decided to tell just the facts:
1) I am lucky beyond all reason.
2) I was born in December of 1989.
3) My parents are L. A. G. and A. M. E. Both have a long history of mental illness, including paranoid schizophrenia and manic depressive disorder. They never really had a relationship and never married. I knew the real meaning of “bastard” from a very early age.
4) I lived with my mother for the first year of my life, at which point she had a psychotic episode and Social Services placed me with my Gram in Adams, Mass.
5) In Adams, I lived with my Gram and older sister. She was 12 or 13 when I was born. The identity of her father is unknown.
6) We were poor, but Gram was pretty good at not letting us feel it. Only in retrospect do the constant TV dinners seem at all unusual. The language of the house was a better indicator, Gram was rough. Often angry. She swore so profusely that she’d often make up her own curses. I must have been attracted to her boldness though because I still remember her growling “What do you think I am, a goddamn story teller?!” after what must have been my 100th plea for her attention. It didn’t stop me from asking a 100 and 1 or 100 and 2nd time.
7) My sister moved out of the house at 16, and had a nervous breakdown at 18. She then married a man who she felt she was helping out. She is currently 35 and often wiggles her way into my life only to use me. “We’re sisters, we’re supposed to hate each other”, she often said. She has helped me too, when she could. It's a double edged sword, and she has her own traumas to attend to.
8) I lived with my Gram until I was 9, when she died. Unfortunately, I was present at her death. I have been prescribed Effexor XR by medical professionals at Ithaca College to treat PTSD, anxiety, and depression.
9) After Gram died, I lived in foster care for a year or so. I hated it. As you can tell by now, I'm trying to spare you deeply emotional details.
10) Summer before 5th grade, my Dad was granted custody. I was a daddy’s girl and loved living with him, mainly because I did whatever I wanted. Later it would look a lot more like neglect than privilege. Only two months together, however, I was accepted to the Milton Hershey School (MHS) in Hershey, PA.
11) MHS is a completely free, K-12, boarding school for underprivileged children, funded by the chocolate and candy sales of the Hershey Company. Yes, every time you’ve bought a Hershey product, you’ve paid for my education, or the education of someone in even worse circumstances – of which there are many. The environment is a cross between an orphanage and military school. Students live in studenthomes of about 12 or 13 people of the same gender. Kids come from all across the United States and represent an almost unnatural (but amazing! I would even say ideal) microcosm of races, religions, and obstacles, though our poverty and horror stories connect us as a school family. We’re supervised at all times by a set of married, Christian, rule-abiding houseparents. Students do chores, attend Chapel (seeing a theme here? I was never one for religion), and we live according to a merit system. In exchange, the school provides food, clothing, housing, braces, glasses, doctors, education – including a laptop and upwards of $75,000 for college – at no charge whatsoever. It was both a miracle and a living nightmare for me. It was a necessity.
12) From 5th through 7th grade, I lived with strict Christian houseparents who I feel I can genuinely say mentally abused us all and set us against each other. They terrified me. I only ever wanted their love (which I thought meant their approval) and it was my own downfall. However, all my other houseparents were perfectly well meaning people who didn't make me shake with fear, though sometimes squirm with embarrassment.
13) Academically, I found a home in the classroom at MHS that I didn’t have at C.T. Plunkett Elementary in Adams. I wasn't a "smart kid" until I started going to MHS. It was also my escape from the student home. In 6th grade, I was introduced to reading through the Harry Potter books. They were banned in Eastmore for being full of such blatant Satanism as children being out of bed, and so I had to sneak the books in and read them as quick as I could. I’d just finished Prisoner of Azkaban when my roommate told on me, and I had to stand in front of everyone and promise never to do witchcraft. At least then the books were allowed. Later, when I studied for the SATs in high school, I re-read the whole series and believe my score was directly correlated to that. Not that the SATs, or really any external value system, holds much weight with me these days.
14) Anyway, besides mathematics, the learning environment there really nurtured me. My teachers liked me, and due to the size of the school, I gained a reputation which got me out of trouble on more than one occasion – to the resentment, it seemed, of my peers. I didn't feel like I had a lot of friends though I wished they would like me. I kept close to only a few people at a time and believed it was better that way, though I regret not reaching out more now. In 8th grade, I started sleeping a lot and feeling disconnected but I dealt with it by keeping a journal. I now have digitized journal entries from every year since I was 12 years old. I did it just to feel like my life had some cohesion.
15) In high school I lost my appetite for books and saw myself stop reading outside of assignments, and then I didn’t even read those. However, no matter what I did, I still got As and Bs (again, outside of math). I was known by the other kids for being four things:
1. intelligent (in the know-it-all, I make people feel insecure kind of way)
2. bold (had my moments)
3. artistic
4. white as they come (which I got the message meant being out of touch, especially awkward and aggressively emo)
16) My proudest memory of MHS was earning a “Spartan H” for Varsity Swimming because I knew it was unexpected, even though the sport itself would send me into panic attacks.
17) I often wonder if the school legitmately prepared me for the world I would find myself living in.
18) I chose my college for its a) distance from home (far as allowed) and b) writing program. I dreamt that college was where I’d always belonged and I saw it as a utopia filled with “normal, public school people” that actually gave a shit about learning and were as intellectually curious as I was without all the dysfunctional drama. Without the psychosis that gets passed on, sometimes inevitably. I have been utterly disillusioned, but I’ve also learned a lot of important things. I've learned most people - no matter their background - just don't give themselves enough credit. I've learned that we live in a culture designed to make us hate ourselves. I've learned that problems are relative, but even so, they don't define us - our reactions, our choices, are what should define who we are. If we lived by our choices, with our thoughts out in the open, we might realize we have more in common than we ever believed possible.
19) Spring 2011 I spent the semester abroad where I earned my CELTA which allows me to teach English as a foreign language. This is what I wrote in my final reflection for the course:
“This course has been a challenge for me, and therefore it has also been an absolute pleasure. Throughout my academic career I have seldom felt challenged, though I always manage to obtain a high grade. I’ve become accustomed to skipping homework and generally procrastinating because my intellectual abilities have outweighed my behavior. I’ve sensed for a long time that I wasn’t really learning much in the classroom – that I was missing a deeper understanding – but for some reason whatever I did was declared ‘good enough’ by my teachers and so I have carried on this way until now.
In this course, I couldn’t rely on my writing abilities. I couldn’t rely on my memory to sponge up the material and then wring it out during a final exam. I have my own theories about intelligence. One part of it is that everyone has their own sense of intelligence. There are no stupid people, only uninformed or misinformed people. Further, those who excel in the classroom are able to learn in more various ways than the average person. They have visual, auditory, and tactile awareness of the material no matter how it’s presented. These learning styles do not necessarily translate into teaching styles, however. This course has taught me the difference between practice and theory.”
20) On September 29th of this semester, I had a conference with ZZ Packer as part of the Distinguished Visiting Writers program. The story she read is about a 12 year old Mexican boy named Julian Ellis and his journey through foster care. ZZ really liked it. It was the happiest day of my life – I don’t think she realized it, but her validation of my writing ability was a validation of my life. My only disappointment is my need for that validation. Nevertheless, the connections between my life experiences and the elements of that story are undeniable. The idea that I had gone through shit – all this shit you’ve now read - and now it was worth something – that I have value – it was, it is, like breaking through ice.
21) 21 – my current age – my current stage in life. I’m an oddball case, and I know it. I’ve been both a bookworm and a stoner. I’ve been both a basket case and a leader. A suck up. A rebel. A visionary. A common piece of "white trash". I want to belong, but at the same time, I want to get the hell out. Now, on what might possibly be the brink of a new life – a writer’s life – I’m once again that cheese, tugged between two worlds, part of neither. So what’s a girl to do but go back to the beginning.
Fact number one: I am lucky beyond all reason.
When I was a baby, my mother could have killed me. When I was a child, my Gram’s death and foster care and MHS could have sucked out my soul. When I was a teen, the kids in school and the overwhelming authority of countless rules and policies could have gotten to me. And without MHS I may have never gone to college - at least not a private one that's for sure. When I got to college – that fact alone lucky in itself – I could have given up, and I wanted to many, many times. In Europe I could’ve let my past control my happiness. This semester, I could’ve gone home, done with it all – done with fighting an invisible monster. Be drowned by depression and stress. But I can’t. I can’t because I’m lucky. I have no reasonable, simple, explanation for being here, but I am. So I have to keep going – I owe it to everyone who deserved just as much to be in my place. I owe it to my Gram who gave up her golden years to raise her daughter’s daughters. I owe it to talented friends who just didn’t have enough to finish their degrees. I owe it to myself, because we all need hope, love, and meaning – no matter where we find it. And if I ever do “make it”, then I’ll shed light on this dark world that 90% of even my close friends can hardly imagine, one that has sucked so many worthy minds and hearts into oblivion.
That’s my discourse, that’s where I’m coming from. That’s my story.
Any questions? Feel less alone? E-mail me:
Saturday, April 30, 2011
I'm Afraid of Americans (I'm Afraid of the World)
Unknown to me, and I believe most Americans, the month of May begins with the presence of Hate all throughout Europe. On May 1st, Neo-Nazis and other groups march through the streets of many major cities. This year was no different, with one exception - in Brno, it was the first time the citizens tried to stop it.
"Brno Blokuje!"
Maybe it's part of being an American post-the-60s-and-70s, but the Czech Republic esspecially has not been without its recent struggles and rebellions - which is why I was and remain not only suprised but disgusted by the reactions of my peers.
Five minutes after receiving a warning e-mail about the event, I posted an event on Facebook. My instinct was to protest - was to be a presence of good. Here's the e-mail:
"Dear students,
This is an important WARNING from the NEONAZI MARCH that those people decided to organise in Brno, on SUNDAY 1 MAY. Their official gathering is planned from 11 a. m. in the park behind the national theatre and the march is going to start at 3:30 p. m., along the STREETS: Koliště, Cejl, Merhautova and Milady Horákové, and back to Koliště.
Please rather DO NOT MOVE AROUND THE TOWN on that day, and if you need to go somewhere, be VERY CAREFUL.
The time AFTER the march is expected to be even more dangerous. It might not be safe in the city in the evening before (Saturday) and the morning after (Monday) as well.
Hopefully nothing happens, there will be many POLICEMEN everywhere, so I do not want to scary you, but it is better to be careful than to get in trouble. It is a DANGER, not an adventure!
If some of you still want to TAKE PART in the blocade, in that case, please be very careful and READ PROPERLY ALL the recommendations on this website: http://brnoblokuje.cz/?page_id=54
Please INFORM ANYONE who might not read this e-mail or anyone you know is going to be or travel in Brno on that day.
There are other things you can celebrate on that day, but safely at home (= in the halls of residence):
1st of May is the Labour Day, a world-wide celebration of work(ers) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labour_Day
and it is also the day of the traditional Czech “Love Day” :) http://www.myczechrepublic.com/czech_culture/czech_holidays/may.html
Best wishes,
M
********************************
MD
Erasmus Incoming Students Coordinator
Office for International Studies , Masaryk University"
In a post-holocaust world, how is it possible that people could be so unafraid of their own potential for needless-mass-destruction? Nevertheless, the responses to my event were just totally unexpected - negative. One girl even asked me, "What do you expect to change?"
I went and it was not only safe, but one of the greatest experiences of my life. At least a thousand people showed up to stand against the neo-nazis. We cheered in Czech and listened to speakers - my friend translated for me. It was an excellent experience.
"Brno Blokuje!"
Maybe it's part of being an American post-the-60s-and-70s, but the Czech Republic esspecially has not been without its recent struggles and rebellions - which is why I was and remain not only suprised but disgusted by the reactions of my peers.
Five minutes after receiving a warning e-mail about the event, I posted an event on Facebook. My instinct was to protest - was to be a presence of good. Here's the e-mail:
"Dear students,
This is an important WARNING from the NEONAZI MARCH that those people decided to organise in Brno, on SUNDAY 1 MAY. Their official gathering is planned from 11 a. m. in the park behind the national theatre and the march is going to start at 3:30 p. m., along the STREETS: Koliště, Cejl, Merhautova and Milady Horákové, and back to Koliště.
Please rather DO NOT MOVE AROUND THE TOWN on that day, and if you need to go somewhere, be VERY CAREFUL.
The time AFTER the march is expected to be even more dangerous. It might not be safe in the city in the evening before (Saturday) and the morning after (Monday) as well.
Hopefully nothing happens, there will be many POLICEMEN everywhere, so I do not want to scary you, but it is better to be careful than to get in trouble. It is a DANGER, not an adventure!
If some of you still want to TAKE PART in the blocade, in that case, please be very careful and READ PROPERLY ALL the recommendations on this website: http://brnoblokuje.cz/?page_id=54
Please INFORM ANYONE who might not read this e-mail or anyone you know is going to be or travel in Brno on that day.
There are other things you can celebrate on that day, but safely at home (= in the halls of residence):
1st of May is the Labour Day, a world-wide celebration of work(ers) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labour_Day
and it is also the day of the traditional Czech “Love Day” :) http://www.myczechrepublic.com/czech_culture/czech_holidays/may.html
Best wishes,
M
********************************
MD
Erasmus Incoming Students Coordinator
Office for International Studies , Masaryk University"
In a post-holocaust world, how is it possible that people could be so unafraid of their own potential for needless-mass-destruction? Nevertheless, the responses to my event were just totally unexpected - negative. One girl even asked me, "What do you expect to change?"
I went and it was not only safe, but one of the greatest experiences of my life. At least a thousand people showed up to stand against the neo-nazis. We cheered in Czech and listened to speakers - my friend translated for me. It was an excellent experience.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Something Vague
April 24, 2011
Written Assignment IV: Lessons from the Classroom
CELTA
This course has been a challenge for me, and therefore has also been an absolute pleasure. Throughout my academic career I have seldom felt challenged, though I always manage to obtain a high grade. I’ve become accustomed to skipping homework and generally procrastinating because my intellectual abilities have outweighed my behavior. I’ve sensed for a long time that I wasn’t really learning much in the classroom – that I was missing a deeper understanding – but for some reason whatever I did was declared good enough by my teachers and so I have carried on this way until now.
In this course, I couldn’t rely on my writing abilities. I couldn’t rely on my memory to sponge up the material and then wring it out during a final exam. I have my own theories about intelligence. One part of it is that everyone has their own sense of intelligence. There are no stupid people, only uneducated people. Further, those who excel in the classroom are able to learn in more various ways than the average person. They have visual, auditory, and tactile awareness of the material no matter how it’s presented. These learning styles do not necessarily translate into teaching styles, however. This course has taught me the difference between practice and theory.
My Own Teaching
For example, I have, unfortunately, failed two lessons. Before these two lessons, during my time with the upper-intermediate group in the first half of the semester, I was on my way to excelling in the course. So what happened? The second half of the course focused on deeper understanding, not mere classroom management and confidence. There is a point in cognitive development when our brains become aware of others. One could say that I had not reached that point intellectually. I’ve grown so accustomed to an atmosphere of input/output that when I asked “checking understanding” questions of my students, I was did so in a way that put them at the same disadvantage as I have found myself in today. A reminder to check for understanding has consistently appeared in all my feedbacks. I was only checking for nodding of heads, or for them to produce a phrase – not if they actually understood the meaning of what they were saying. Not to see if they could replicate it to communicate with their classmates. Not the “how” or “why” but only “if” things worked. I realize now that while systematic, asking a leading series of Yes or No questions about the material is the most effective way to know if the students really understand.
On a positive note, I feel I have a strong, natural manner with the students. This sentiment has been regularly expressed by my classmates and Professors in feedback. Nevertheless, I retain my position that this is teaching on the shallowest level. Then again, perhaps my real weakness is not primarily my comprehension, but more so my self-doubt. Knowing that – as I have for a long time – doesn’t change much on its own, but I am trying.
Observations
Nevertheless, through observing my Professors, the Brno ELC teachers, and my classmates, I have seen a wide range of people all pursuing the same goal successfully. I have learned from the Brno ELC teachers that the most effective teachers utilize technology and provide an experience rather than a lesson. While every portion of the lesson is planned, most of that planning is anticipatory and open to take different paths depending on the input of the students. The students don’t realize it, but they’re almost teaching themselves. In one class we watched in particular, every fifth word was immediately searched for on Google and authentic images helped fill the gap between question and explanation.
Future Plans
Looking to the future, I know I want to be a teacher. I want to be a writer too, but teaching is immediately rewarding and fulfilling in a different way. I feel comfortable in the classroom and from my feedback I understand that I have some natural abilities in that area, but before I can be an effective teacher there are still things I need to wrap my head around.
First, I must deal with changing my personal habits. I need to create lesson plans in advance so I can work with my advisor and learn what will work and what will not before the actual lesson. Within lesson design I need help distinguishing between what does and what does not “teach” a certain skill or language point. If this sounds too theoretical it is because that’s the way this issue presents itself in my mind, and why I’m insecure about it. Once I graduate from this course I will be on my own and hopefully by then I’ll be prepared and able to make effective lessons by myself.
Secondly, while I can cope with the idea that I must do a personal grammar lesson for myself before I can feel comfortable teaching any language point, I still need to work on my self-awareness when it comes to language. As articulate as I can be, I grew up in an environment of slang and poor grammar and I sense now how that can confuse me when teaching. It is a minor adjustment, but an important one.
Thirdly, I sincerely have to work on my confidence. I know this doesn’t have much to do with skills, language systems, or vocabulary but all that is more natural to me than believing in myself while in the midst of failure. In the future, things will go wrong, and I don’t want to lose a job or who-knows-what just because I couldn’t pull myself back up. I absolutely believe I have the aptitude, the potential, to be a really amazing teacher – I just need some patience, mostly with myself.
More than anything else, I sense that coming to Brno and attending this course has been a changing point in my life. I believe I will look back on my experience here and recognize the moment when I finally grew up. I realize this paper might be more for technical aspects of teaching, but I would be lying if I didn’t give time to these more abstract and personal matters – in my life, and in my teaching future, I feel they are the most important lessons I will have learned. That and thinking time – always give plenty of thinking time.
Written Assignment IV: Lessons from the Classroom
CELTA
This course has been a challenge for me, and therefore has also been an absolute pleasure. Throughout my academic career I have seldom felt challenged, though I always manage to obtain a high grade. I’ve become accustomed to skipping homework and generally procrastinating because my intellectual abilities have outweighed my behavior. I’ve sensed for a long time that I wasn’t really learning much in the classroom – that I was missing a deeper understanding – but for some reason whatever I did was declared good enough by my teachers and so I have carried on this way until now.
In this course, I couldn’t rely on my writing abilities. I couldn’t rely on my memory to sponge up the material and then wring it out during a final exam. I have my own theories about intelligence. One part of it is that everyone has their own sense of intelligence. There are no stupid people, only uneducated people. Further, those who excel in the classroom are able to learn in more various ways than the average person. They have visual, auditory, and tactile awareness of the material no matter how it’s presented. These learning styles do not necessarily translate into teaching styles, however. This course has taught me the difference between practice and theory.
My Own Teaching
For example, I have, unfortunately, failed two lessons. Before these two lessons, during my time with the upper-intermediate group in the first half of the semester, I was on my way to excelling in the course. So what happened? The second half of the course focused on deeper understanding, not mere classroom management and confidence. There is a point in cognitive development when our brains become aware of others. One could say that I had not reached that point intellectually. I’ve grown so accustomed to an atmosphere of input/output that when I asked “checking understanding” questions of my students, I was did so in a way that put them at the same disadvantage as I have found myself in today. A reminder to check for understanding has consistently appeared in all my feedbacks. I was only checking for nodding of heads, or for them to produce a phrase – not if they actually understood the meaning of what they were saying. Not to see if they could replicate it to communicate with their classmates. Not the “how” or “why” but only “if” things worked. I realize now that while systematic, asking a leading series of Yes or No questions about the material is the most effective way to know if the students really understand.
On a positive note, I feel I have a strong, natural manner with the students. This sentiment has been regularly expressed by my classmates and Professors in feedback. Nevertheless, I retain my position that this is teaching on the shallowest level. Then again, perhaps my real weakness is not primarily my comprehension, but more so my self-doubt. Knowing that – as I have for a long time – doesn’t change much on its own, but I am trying.
Observations
Nevertheless, through observing my Professors, the Brno ELC teachers, and my classmates, I have seen a wide range of people all pursuing the same goal successfully. I have learned from the Brno ELC teachers that the most effective teachers utilize technology and provide an experience rather than a lesson. While every portion of the lesson is planned, most of that planning is anticipatory and open to take different paths depending on the input of the students. The students don’t realize it, but they’re almost teaching themselves. In one class we watched in particular, every fifth word was immediately searched for on Google and authentic images helped fill the gap between question and explanation.
Future Plans
Looking to the future, I know I want to be a teacher. I want to be a writer too, but teaching is immediately rewarding and fulfilling in a different way. I feel comfortable in the classroom and from my feedback I understand that I have some natural abilities in that area, but before I can be an effective teacher there are still things I need to wrap my head around.
First, I must deal with changing my personal habits. I need to create lesson plans in advance so I can work with my advisor and learn what will work and what will not before the actual lesson. Within lesson design I need help distinguishing between what does and what does not “teach” a certain skill or language point. If this sounds too theoretical it is because that’s the way this issue presents itself in my mind, and why I’m insecure about it. Once I graduate from this course I will be on my own and hopefully by then I’ll be prepared and able to make effective lessons by myself.
Secondly, while I can cope with the idea that I must do a personal grammar lesson for myself before I can feel comfortable teaching any language point, I still need to work on my self-awareness when it comes to language. As articulate as I can be, I grew up in an environment of slang and poor grammar and I sense now how that can confuse me when teaching. It is a minor adjustment, but an important one.
Thirdly, I sincerely have to work on my confidence. I know this doesn’t have much to do with skills, language systems, or vocabulary but all that is more natural to me than believing in myself while in the midst of failure. In the future, things will go wrong, and I don’t want to lose a job or who-knows-what just because I couldn’t pull myself back up. I absolutely believe I have the aptitude, the potential, to be a really amazing teacher – I just need some patience, mostly with myself.
More than anything else, I sense that coming to Brno and attending this course has been a changing point in my life. I believe I will look back on my experience here and recognize the moment when I finally grew up. I realize this paper might be more for technical aspects of teaching, but I would be lying if I didn’t give time to these more abstract and personal matters – in my life, and in my teaching future, I feel they are the most important lessons I will have learned. That and thinking time – always give plenty of thinking time.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
"We are adventuring, we are adventurers!"
PRAGUE
I left by train on April 1st to Prague, where I would meet up with my best friend from high school who was flying in from Turkey. Before I was to leave, however, several things were to happen. One, running to catch my bus, I would arrive just in time only to discover that they had sold my ticket for not being there 5 minutes earlier. So, with the image of my friend stranded in the Prague airport wondering where the hell I was screaming in my head, I burst into tears right then and there. It was important because it had been the first time I cried since my first day in Brno when I was, then just as I was now, boarding a bus. At any rate, I never want to ride the bus again, if I can help it.
The train was a thousand times better and only 100 crowns more. It was the first time I've left Brno since I got here in February, and I'm always amazed at how similar everything is. Everywhere, grass grows. Everywhere, people talk about nothing. Everywhere, there are comings and goings and shadows and sunsets. There are houses and stretches of land and houses again. This could be Pennsylvania. This world speeding outside my window isn't so unfamiliar. I wonder why I ever expected it to be...
Prague itself was lovely, but not quite as romantic as it might seem. I've never really been a city person though I do like Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco - Prague was nice but infested with the same old New York City commercialism among history - the same tugging along of full-wallets and screaming children. Billboards and shop windows. Art and junk all crushed together like the crowds stomping along the cobblestone streets in their inappropriate shoes. We too shopped. We ate. I's first request was for bacon - anything bacon. We slept in a hostel and we talked and we smoked. We visited the Museum of Communism and The Mucha Museum. It was a good time, a nice time. But when we got on that train back to Brno, that's when the fun really began.
I stayed the week and I brought her to most of my favorite places. The tea room. To my class. The Hobbit pub. The pub with the trains that chug around the bar and bring your drinks to your table. We smoked with Lord Firecrotch and played pub quiz and watched a Czech interpretation of a western. We talked about her Dad and her love interests and Turkey, Turkey, Turkey. She met my friends and drank the beer and the week was soon over and back again to Prague and she was gone. She's never gone though - there is a thread between our hearts that I think can never be broken. I know this now more than ever.
It was the longest time - the first time - we've hung out and not gotten into a fight. Maybe we're growing. Maybe B was right - travel does change you. It puts something new inside of you - a sort of rock or stone that keeps you in balance when life's little miseries would normally knock you sideways.
She's worrying me though - my I. I won't write much about it here because I'm learning the art of restraint. All I will say is that I really hope one day she will have the home she deserves.
Berlin?
First I was supposed to go to Olomouc this weekend. Then I was supposed to go to Vienna. Now, the goal is to rent a car and head to Berlin, meeting up with another good friend there. I love love love to drive and I've dreamed of driving on the Autobahnen since I realized what a gas pedal can do to your soul. I'm sure it will be a logistical nightmare to get sorted out but I've got to try...
Poezie
I'm also getting a tattoo. I've decided to get a replica of Mucha's Poetry from the Four Arts on my arm. It's everything I want my tattoo to be - something Czech to remember my time here. Something about writing, and something beautiful. I want to wear a little bit of my soul on the outside. It's very intricate, but surely it will be easy enough to trace for a tattoo - just have to find the right artist. I'm supposed to being having it done in Olomouc with M, but no word yet on if the artist she knows there will do it or not or the cost.
Life's Vices are Spices
I've been getting headaches, feeling dizzy, a little sick. The cigarettes might be taking their toll - or it's allergies from the changing weather - who knows. My laptop broke the week before I's visit and I have no idea what to do about it. I'd rather visit some city than pay to fix it - it's just an inconvenience. When the summer fully appears, I might be thinking differently about that though - depending on where I end up. Everything is just going so well - I can't help but wonder when my luck will run out...or else burst and spill over like a balloon filled with water, soaking me in miracles. I have to say love has been on my mind. I want to be in love - even if it's in love with my own work. I feel something brewing - a story, an event - something in the air, coming. Maybe I should just lay off the smokes for a little while...
I left by train on April 1st to Prague, where I would meet up with my best friend from high school who was flying in from Turkey. Before I was to leave, however, several things were to happen. One, running to catch my bus, I would arrive just in time only to discover that they had sold my ticket for not being there 5 minutes earlier. So, with the image of my friend stranded in the Prague airport wondering where the hell I was screaming in my head, I burst into tears right then and there. It was important because it had been the first time I cried since my first day in Brno when I was, then just as I was now, boarding a bus. At any rate, I never want to ride the bus again, if I can help it.
The train was a thousand times better and only 100 crowns more. It was the first time I've left Brno since I got here in February, and I'm always amazed at how similar everything is. Everywhere, grass grows. Everywhere, people talk about nothing. Everywhere, there are comings and goings and shadows and sunsets. There are houses and stretches of land and houses again. This could be Pennsylvania. This world speeding outside my window isn't so unfamiliar. I wonder why I ever expected it to be...
Prague itself was lovely, but not quite as romantic as it might seem. I've never really been a city person though I do like Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco - Prague was nice but infested with the same old New York City commercialism among history - the same tugging along of full-wallets and screaming children. Billboards and shop windows. Art and junk all crushed together like the crowds stomping along the cobblestone streets in their inappropriate shoes. We too shopped. We ate. I's first request was for bacon - anything bacon. We slept in a hostel and we talked and we smoked. We visited the Museum of Communism and The Mucha Museum. It was a good time, a nice time. But when we got on that train back to Brno, that's when the fun really began.
I stayed the week and I brought her to most of my favorite places. The tea room. To my class. The Hobbit pub. The pub with the trains that chug around the bar and bring your drinks to your table. We smoked with Lord Firecrotch and played pub quiz and watched a Czech interpretation of a western. We talked about her Dad and her love interests and Turkey, Turkey, Turkey. She met my friends and drank the beer and the week was soon over and back again to Prague and she was gone. She's never gone though - there is a thread between our hearts that I think can never be broken. I know this now more than ever.
It was the longest time - the first time - we've hung out and not gotten into a fight. Maybe we're growing. Maybe B was right - travel does change you. It puts something new inside of you - a sort of rock or stone that keeps you in balance when life's little miseries would normally knock you sideways.
She's worrying me though - my I. I won't write much about it here because I'm learning the art of restraint. All I will say is that I really hope one day she will have the home she deserves.
Berlin?
First I was supposed to go to Olomouc this weekend. Then I was supposed to go to Vienna. Now, the goal is to rent a car and head to Berlin, meeting up with another good friend there. I love love love to drive and I've dreamed of driving on the Autobahnen since I realized what a gas pedal can do to your soul. I'm sure it will be a logistical nightmare to get sorted out but I've got to try...
Poezie
I'm also getting a tattoo. I've decided to get a replica of Mucha's Poetry from the Four Arts on my arm. It's everything I want my tattoo to be - something Czech to remember my time here. Something about writing, and something beautiful. I want to wear a little bit of my soul on the outside. It's very intricate, but surely it will be easy enough to trace for a tattoo - just have to find the right artist. I'm supposed to being having it done in Olomouc with M, but no word yet on if the artist she knows there will do it or not or the cost.
Life's Vices are Spices
I've been getting headaches, feeling dizzy, a little sick. The cigarettes might be taking their toll - or it's allergies from the changing weather - who knows. My laptop broke the week before I's visit and I have no idea what to do about it. I'd rather visit some city than pay to fix it - it's just an inconvenience. When the summer fully appears, I might be thinking differently about that though - depending on where I end up. Everything is just going so well - I can't help but wonder when my luck will run out...or else burst and spill over like a balloon filled with water, soaking me in miracles. I have to say love has been on my mind. I want to be in love - even if it's in love with my own work. I feel something brewing - a story, an event - something in the air, coming. Maybe I should just lay off the smokes for a little while...
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sleep All Summer [the sunlight burned my fear away]
Two paths (and surely more unseen) lay ahead of me now in terms of how I will spend the summer of 2011.
I'll have my CELTA by the end of May and so I thought I would stay abroad and find a job teaching. The world is not lacking in such positions, and they are particularly tantalizing. Often, the hosting company or school provides airfare, room & board, plus a salary and even a week of vacation. I'd love to go to India or someplace warm and exotic and teach English. The problem is, many of the job listings require at least a year of experience and even sometimes a Bachelor's degree, but the ones seeking fresh blood still exist. If I do this under the right circumstances, I'll have a CV before I even graduate college. The downside is that I'll surely move out of Brno and go somewhere else, and so I will have a very limited time to get used to another new place - but much like learning languages - I think it gets easier the more you already know.
My second option is to go back to the US, spend a few days with a good friend in Chicago, and then return to Ithaca, NY where I could be a full time writer and editor for a magazine called Fuze. I've only just been contacted about this job, but it does seem much more like a job than an internship so I believe I will be paid. As far as housing is concerned, however, doubtless I will have to take care of all of that myself and I really don't think I can afford it.
The reason this post is worthy of being a post at all isn't because I want to brag about my options or worry publicly about which of two spectacular things I should choose - but because I feel like the choice I make is indicative of what I really want to do in life. Do I want to be a writer, or a teacher? Which am I more passionate about? Which pulls on my heart so strongly that I go blind toward issues of money or comfort? Moreover, is it possible to do both?
Why wouldn't it be possible to teach abroad while writing and editing from my laptop - very much like I'm doing now? Maybe not for Fuze, but for somewhere. People say you can't have it all - but why not - why the hell not?
I'll have my CELTA by the end of May and so I thought I would stay abroad and find a job teaching. The world is not lacking in such positions, and they are particularly tantalizing. Often, the hosting company or school provides airfare, room & board, plus a salary and even a week of vacation. I'd love to go to India or someplace warm and exotic and teach English. The problem is, many of the job listings require at least a year of experience and even sometimes a Bachelor's degree, but the ones seeking fresh blood still exist. If I do this under the right circumstances, I'll have a CV before I even graduate college. The downside is that I'll surely move out of Brno and go somewhere else, and so I will have a very limited time to get used to another new place - but much like learning languages - I think it gets easier the more you already know.
My second option is to go back to the US, spend a few days with a good friend in Chicago, and then return to Ithaca, NY where I could be a full time writer and editor for a magazine called Fuze. I've only just been contacted about this job, but it does seem much more like a job than an internship so I believe I will be paid. As far as housing is concerned, however, doubtless I will have to take care of all of that myself and I really don't think I can afford it.
The reason this post is worthy of being a post at all isn't because I want to brag about my options or worry publicly about which of two spectacular things I should choose - but because I feel like the choice I make is indicative of what I really want to do in life. Do I want to be a writer, or a teacher? Which am I more passionate about? Which pulls on my heart so strongly that I go blind toward issues of money or comfort? Moreover, is it possible to do both?
Why wouldn't it be possible to teach abroad while writing and editing from my laptop - very much like I'm doing now? Maybe not for Fuze, but for somewhere. People say you can't have it all - but why not - why the hell not?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
When the Curious Girl Realizes She is Under Glass
I saw him out of the corner of my eye.
Walking passed the window where I sat, he suddenly stopped. Stopped in the way you do when there's a sale, or a shocking ad. Stopped in the way that you do when your favorite childhood something-or-other is propped up amongst an assortment of lost and unwanted things, but to you it's like seeing an old friend again. Only the shop is closed, so you shake the childish nostalgia from your head and remembering you have somewhere important to be, you walk on. Which is exactly what he did. He walked away. I continued to sit in the window of the restaurant, waiting for a friend to arrive, but I had most definitely noticed the young man who'd stopped and stared.
I'd been to the opera that evening and hadn't understood much. I wore my fatigue like something lovely come undone. Odd threads were pulled loose on my stockings and my mascara was flaking. I wore a purple beret only because my hair had lost its early morning bounce. Watching the people pass through the night, I knew how much more easily they could watch me in the brightly lit window. I was a display, a mannequin, selling the exhaustion of an American abroad. The wonder of such an exhaustion. I began to idle on my old women's studies courses, particularly the concept of “the male gaze”, and whether feminism will ever make amends with theory and practice when as suddenly as he had gone, he came back.
He stood right in front of my window, putting his palm on the glass. I returned his palm with mine, wiggling fingers in hello. He smiled, and walked away. He wore yellow or orange glasses with a similar frame as my violet ones. He was tall, brown hair and eyes. A little scruff. A book bag. Probably a college student, but he still might not even speak English. In ten seconds time, he stole my heart and turning back just once, we smiled at each other, and he disappeared into the crowd.
I am not used to romance in my life beyond my music and my books, in my dreams and in my writing. I have been told – often – that my expectations are just too great. I want too much from people. I'm better off with friends. Friends can be somewhat terrible people. Friends are allowed to be so individually flawed. Not that lovers can't be flawed - it's just more about that undefinable connection. I look at people as whole characters, and I appreciate their strengths equal with their weaknesses - I want to know their story, nothing more or less. However, the levels of friendship make it possible for the worse characters to be kept on the outside of the circle, but still within the story of your life. The nature of romance can't allow for that – they have only the inner most circle. This is too dangerous for a girl who can fall in love in ten seconds – if only they can properly get her attention. If the story will sound interesting enough...
Am I actually in love with this young man? No, of course not. But I am certainly and eternally in love with his boldness and connectivity – something I have never found much of in man or woman – friend or lover. Maybe it's a sign of an embarrassingly huge ego or selfishness, but I have trouble finding people like me. Even among my friends, who have always been my true family in life, I am often not on the same wavelength as them. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not assigning values of good or bad, better or worse, I'm talking about something so much more encompassing than that. Anyway, this doesn't really bother me because I seek out variety in my friendships. Yet, whenever we do actually connect it seems so bittersweet and extraordinarily fleeting. This is probably just the way it is and will always be – a fact of life – but if I exist just as I am, I have to believe in the mathematical certainty that there's someone else out there who thinks like me more than 1/3rd of the time. If I am ever meant to choose a single person to be my center circle - they're going to have to be a supernova. They're going to have to really be able to change my world...
Someone bold and passionate and ambitious – maybe too much so. Someone who can be silly and playful at times without a single regret. A sense of perseverance and a desire to do good. Who knows when it's time to be responsible, and when it's time to say “fuck it, life is short, let's just be happy”. A free spirit. A big heart. A thinker. Someone who can make you feel like a better person – and who lets you love them.
If you know this person, or a brown-eyed man living in Brno with yellow framed glasses and a thing for windows, feel free to let me know. Or maybe it's for the best if I never see him again...supernovas can be pretty explosive, you know.
Walking passed the window where I sat, he suddenly stopped. Stopped in the way you do when there's a sale, or a shocking ad. Stopped in the way that you do when your favorite childhood something-or-other is propped up amongst an assortment of lost and unwanted things, but to you it's like seeing an old friend again. Only the shop is closed, so you shake the childish nostalgia from your head and remembering you have somewhere important to be, you walk on. Which is exactly what he did. He walked away. I continued to sit in the window of the restaurant, waiting for a friend to arrive, but I had most definitely noticed the young man who'd stopped and stared.
I'd been to the opera that evening and hadn't understood much. I wore my fatigue like something lovely come undone. Odd threads were pulled loose on my stockings and my mascara was flaking. I wore a purple beret only because my hair had lost its early morning bounce. Watching the people pass through the night, I knew how much more easily they could watch me in the brightly lit window. I was a display, a mannequin, selling the exhaustion of an American abroad. The wonder of such an exhaustion. I began to idle on my old women's studies courses, particularly the concept of “the male gaze”, and whether feminism will ever make amends with theory and practice when as suddenly as he had gone, he came back.
He stood right in front of my window, putting his palm on the glass. I returned his palm with mine, wiggling fingers in hello. He smiled, and walked away. He wore yellow or orange glasses with a similar frame as my violet ones. He was tall, brown hair and eyes. A little scruff. A book bag. Probably a college student, but he still might not even speak English. In ten seconds time, he stole my heart and turning back just once, we smiled at each other, and he disappeared into the crowd.
I am not used to romance in my life beyond my music and my books, in my dreams and in my writing. I have been told – often – that my expectations are just too great. I want too much from people. I'm better off with friends. Friends can be somewhat terrible people. Friends are allowed to be so individually flawed. Not that lovers can't be flawed - it's just more about that undefinable connection. I look at people as whole characters, and I appreciate their strengths equal with their weaknesses - I want to know their story, nothing more or less. However, the levels of friendship make it possible for the worse characters to be kept on the outside of the circle, but still within the story of your life. The nature of romance can't allow for that – they have only the inner most circle. This is too dangerous for a girl who can fall in love in ten seconds – if only they can properly get her attention. If the story will sound interesting enough...
Am I actually in love with this young man? No, of course not. But I am certainly and eternally in love with his boldness and connectivity – something I have never found much of in man or woman – friend or lover. Maybe it's a sign of an embarrassingly huge ego or selfishness, but I have trouble finding people like me. Even among my friends, who have always been my true family in life, I am often not on the same wavelength as them. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not assigning values of good or bad, better or worse, I'm talking about something so much more encompassing than that. Anyway, this doesn't really bother me because I seek out variety in my friendships. Yet, whenever we do actually connect it seems so bittersweet and extraordinarily fleeting. This is probably just the way it is and will always be – a fact of life – but if I exist just as I am, I have to believe in the mathematical certainty that there's someone else out there who thinks like me more than 1/3rd of the time. If I am ever meant to choose a single person to be my center circle - they're going to have to be a supernova. They're going to have to really be able to change my world...
Someone bold and passionate and ambitious – maybe too much so. Someone who can be silly and playful at times without a single regret. A sense of perseverance and a desire to do good. Who knows when it's time to be responsible, and when it's time to say “fuck it, life is short, let's just be happy”. A free spirit. A big heart. A thinker. Someone who can make you feel like a better person – and who lets you love them.
If you know this person, or a brown-eyed man living in Brno with yellow framed glasses and a thing for windows, feel free to let me know. Or maybe it's for the best if I never see him again...supernovas can be pretty explosive, you know.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
"But for now we are young, so let's lay in the sun, and count every beautiful thing we can see"
And once again the weekend is over.
I had a wonderful time. The first Feast Friday went over very well. Ten of us met in the dorm lobby and departed to a restaurant called Divadelní sklep Nekonečno (Cellar Theater Infinity). Luckily two of the ten knew enough Czech to help the rest of us order dinner. The restaurant itself was beautiful - all dark blue with back-lighted pictures from various plays and theater productions. The ceiling was a blanket of little lights like stars. I'm a sucker for little lights.
After dinner, which seemed to last for hours, we moved on to a little "pub" called The Hobit. It's a smoker's den of sorts with a Lord of the Rings theme. Coming down a curved staircase into foggy rooms filled with young people, Foosball tables, and 90s music, our hopes were high. Maybe too high, however, because the owner came to take our order and was unbelievably wasted - and possibly disliked foreigners. It quickly became one of those experiences that is funny in retrospect, but you wouldn't be too eager to repeat. I decided it was just the place to try Absinthe for the first time though, and that turned out to be a good choice.
The thing about Absinthe is that there's this big mythology about it - but it's all pretty much bullshit. While it's not going to get you high, it does taste delicious. It's anise flavored - so it tastes a lot like candy or something. Some of the girls ordered "punch" which looked like regular iced tea but was warm with fruit in it, served in a big pitcher. After The Hobit the group split and so we headed to another bar down the road. It was just a regular Starobrno place, common around the city, but my friend asked if I wanted to do shots of Becherovka with him - a very tasty Czech liquor that's like pumpkin pie. I'm still developing my Euro Alcohol Tolerance however, and after the shots I couldn't even finish my beer. The night came to a close and we walked back to Vinarska a fairly happy, albeit sleepy, bunch.
On Saturday E - a girl from Germany who I met the night before at dinner - suggested we go to the Cinema Mundi festival. It's a cinema festival that's been going on for a couple weeks. We decided to see When We Leave, a movie about Turks in Germany (Germany's largest minority) and the struggle of a Turkish woman who loves her family as much as she fears them. Despite being promised English subtitles, there weren't any, but luckily (for me, and maybe only me!) Ellen was able to translate in whispers as the film progressed. A quarter way through, the film simply cut out, but was restored in due time. I couldn't help but think what a disaster this would have been in the US. At least one person would have shouted an obscenity, and who knows how many would have marched out asking for their money back. But everyone sat very quietly, in the dark, and just waited. It was kind of nice, like they knew it was going to be okay.
Two people I met this weekend, E and M, really fascinated me. E is studying Central European language and culture and M is doing a lot of fancy engineering things I don't really understand, but sound amazing. E and I talked about the natural transformation of culture and language; how these are not and have never been static entities and holding on so desperately to "the way things were" is futile because everything is influenced by something else. There is no such thing as purity when it comes to our identities. M talked about losing his grandmother just two weeks ago, and how he was unable to see her for the past 8 years because of the conflict in Gaza. We talked about health care and college and measurements of intelligence - it was refreshing. I mean, I love escapism as much as the next person and a good smoke never hurt anybody, but combine intellectuals with substances and it's beyond powerful...I'm still looking forward to a game of Drunken Chess...
I had a wonderful time. The first Feast Friday went over very well. Ten of us met in the dorm lobby and departed to a restaurant called Divadelní sklep Nekonečno (Cellar Theater Infinity). Luckily two of the ten knew enough Czech to help the rest of us order dinner. The restaurant itself was beautiful - all dark blue with back-lighted pictures from various plays and theater productions. The ceiling was a blanket of little lights like stars. I'm a sucker for little lights.
After dinner, which seemed to last for hours, we moved on to a little "pub" called The Hobit. It's a smoker's den of sorts with a Lord of the Rings theme. Coming down a curved staircase into foggy rooms filled with young people, Foosball tables, and 90s music, our hopes were high. Maybe too high, however, because the owner came to take our order and was unbelievably wasted - and possibly disliked foreigners. It quickly became one of those experiences that is funny in retrospect, but you wouldn't be too eager to repeat. I decided it was just the place to try Absinthe for the first time though, and that turned out to be a good choice.
The thing about Absinthe is that there's this big mythology about it - but it's all pretty much bullshit. While it's not going to get you high, it does taste delicious. It's anise flavored - so it tastes a lot like candy or something. Some of the girls ordered "punch" which looked like regular iced tea but was warm with fruit in it, served in a big pitcher. After The Hobit the group split and so we headed to another bar down the road. It was just a regular Starobrno place, common around the city, but my friend asked if I wanted to do shots of Becherovka with him - a very tasty Czech liquor that's like pumpkin pie. I'm still developing my Euro Alcohol Tolerance however, and after the shots I couldn't even finish my beer. The night came to a close and we walked back to Vinarska a fairly happy, albeit sleepy, bunch.
On Saturday E - a girl from Germany who I met the night before at dinner - suggested we go to the Cinema Mundi festival. It's a cinema festival that's been going on for a couple weeks. We decided to see When We Leave, a movie about Turks in Germany (Germany's largest minority) and the struggle of a Turkish woman who loves her family as much as she fears them. Despite being promised English subtitles, there weren't any, but luckily (for me, and maybe only me!) Ellen was able to translate in whispers as the film progressed. A quarter way through, the film simply cut out, but was restored in due time. I couldn't help but think what a disaster this would have been in the US. At least one person would have shouted an obscenity, and who knows how many would have marched out asking for their money back. But everyone sat very quietly, in the dark, and just waited. It was kind of nice, like they knew it was going to be okay.
Two people I met this weekend, E and M, really fascinated me. E is studying Central European language and culture and M is doing a lot of fancy engineering things I don't really understand, but sound amazing. E and I talked about the natural transformation of culture and language; how these are not and have never been static entities and holding on so desperately to "the way things were" is futile because everything is influenced by something else. There is no such thing as purity when it comes to our identities. M talked about losing his grandmother just two weeks ago, and how he was unable to see her for the past 8 years because of the conflict in Gaza. We talked about health care and college and measurements of intelligence - it was refreshing. I mean, I love escapism as much as the next person and a good smoke never hurt anybody, but combine intellectuals with substances and it's beyond powerful...I'm still looking forward to a game of Drunken Chess...
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Friday I'm in Love
It's a beautiful day in Brno!
The sun is shining and it's going to be 42 degrees today. The weather here is pretty much the same as at home in Hershey, PA.
Tonight is the first official "Feast Fridays" - something a friend and I started in order to keep our palates interesting. On Fridays we go out into the town and try a new restaurant. So far about 12 people have said they'll come. With a crowd like that, who knows where we might end up.
God of Wine
Wine tasting at the Vinna Galerie on Tuesday was probably the highlight of my week. My friend R from Memphis and I joined a group of friends from France - S, Y, and M. Here's our wine list - along with my personal opinions of each (sorry to my Czech friends for the lack of accents on the letters):
1)Ryzlink Vlassky: A white wine that didn't seem to have much flavor to me, but they said it had green apples or something in it.
2)Muskat Moravsky: Another white wine, this time better. S smelled fromage when she first gave it a sniff. :)
3)Palava: The best of the white wines. Had honey in it I think.
4)Frankovka Cuvee: A rose wine. M swore it was more like water than wine.
5)Svatovavrinecke: The first red wine. Let's just say I don't think I like red wine.
6)Cabernet Moravia: Another red. Had a cherry base I think.
7)Zweigeltrebe: The last red - I actually gave the rest of it to M.
*8)Bobulky: Okay - this is the greatest wine I've ever had and I will definitely bring a bottle back to the US. For the Czechs, this is a very special and expensive dessert wine. A bottle is about 300kc or $25. It's a straw wine, meaning they lay the grapes out for a while and so there's a very small production yield. Of all the wines we tried, I recommend this.
All throughout the tasting there was cheese, bread, and an assortment of gray and odd pink meats that I don't think I would have touched even if I was a meat-eater. Also grapes, red peppers, and olives. It was a pretty lovely evening and the Vinna Galerie was cool because it had been in a movie, so they had pictures from the film all around. There was also a live (and lively!) band of men who played some upbeat music like Hava Nagila.
Quelqu'un m'a dit
Meanwhile, our new French friends taught us some phrases (You are my sunshine/Tu es mon rayon soleil) and apparently "beet" (the purplish vegetable) sounds like the French word for "dick", while "chat" (cat) is actually pussy...so basically we've been unwittingly saying dirty things all through high school...how secretly amused must Madame S have been?!
They taught us about the different French regions and why some French know German (but are not German!). There's a wine festival along the beach in France sometime in the spring that I'd really love to go to while I'm in Europe...along with Queen's Day in the Netherlands that is.
Modern Love
Otherwise I'm looking forward to tea and possibly staying over at my Czech friend M's house when she's finished with her English language exams. She lives in Olomouc which is about 2 hours away. She's also teaching English with us - she's a very bright and intelligent young woman who loves traveling. Her story is actually as international as it is sweet - she met her boyfriend, an Englishman, while doing research in Honduras and found she couldn't be without him. At one point, she traveled for 40 hours just to be with him before he left for another destination. She says, "We have the same soul. We want to spend our life traveling." For anyone (like my sister) who imagines the Czech people as an old, crinkled woman with a scarf on her head, I think M is a good representation of the very much connected youth of Central Europe.
Last Chance to Lose Your Keys
During our lunch break on Wednesday, M wanted to take a picture of the "Revoluce" (Revolution) art sculpture in a nearby park. It's about 20 feet high and spells "Revoluce" vertically in a shining arrangement of keys - house keys, brass keys, colored keys. It is in remembrance of the Velvet Revolution, when the Czech people stood up against the regime and shook their keys in the streets. Michelle proudly tells me that of all the countries under the regime, the Czechs were the only ones brave enough to stand up and speak out. It's called the Velvet Revolution because the transition was smooth like velvet, and there was minimal violence. All the keys in the sculpture were donated by the Czech people - making it more than art, but also a piece of history.
Coin Laundry
I went to Clubwash yesterday to do my laundry. Almost got lost, and had that terrible feeling like I was in a bad part of town. Saw some people dressed as spacemen and a white Christmas tree and that gave me some comfort. It took a long time - left at 6 and got back around 10:30 - but I'd do it again with some friends. It's nice because you can just drop off your clothes and they do everything for you. I had some Svijany beer there and it was good. Read a bit more of "Great Expectations" while people came and went. There seemed to be a pub-crawl-contest going on so these groups would come in and get a beer, take pictures, and move on to the next pub. Clubwash is nice because you hear a mix of languages and accents. Two loads of laundry, two beers, and a bag of chips cost me $20 though - which sucks terribly - but at least I have clean clothes again.
Choose Life
So my plans for the upcoming week include an Opera on the 10th and my first "real" lesson on Monday - teaching them about present perfect simple and continuous tense (wish me luck!). Then tea with Michelle on the 12th and possibly seeing Black Swan with Czech subtitles with R. B wants to teach me how to wash my clothes by hand - don't know how I feel about that - could just be the spoiled American in me.
They Remind Me Too Much of You
Today is the 12th year anniversary of my grandmother's death. It was a turning point in my life, much in the same way I think coming to Brno is going to be. A new chapter starts here. The world feels upside down. Things don't always make sense anymore, like the logical order of things has been shuffled and scattered like Scrabble tiles. Then, slowly, the pieces rearrange and something new breathes into life.
The sun is shining and it's going to be 42 degrees today. The weather here is pretty much the same as at home in Hershey, PA.
Tonight is the first official "Feast Fridays" - something a friend and I started in order to keep our palates interesting. On Fridays we go out into the town and try a new restaurant. So far about 12 people have said they'll come. With a crowd like that, who knows where we might end up.
God of Wine
Wine tasting at the Vinna Galerie on Tuesday was probably the highlight of my week. My friend R from Memphis and I joined a group of friends from France - S, Y, and M. Here's our wine list - along with my personal opinions of each (sorry to my Czech friends for the lack of accents on the letters):
1)Ryzlink Vlassky: A white wine that didn't seem to have much flavor to me, but they said it had green apples or something in it.
2)Muskat Moravsky: Another white wine, this time better. S smelled fromage when she first gave it a sniff. :)
3)Palava: The best of the white wines. Had honey in it I think.
4)Frankovka Cuvee: A rose wine. M swore it was more like water than wine.
5)Svatovavrinecke: The first red wine. Let's just say I don't think I like red wine.
6)Cabernet Moravia: Another red. Had a cherry base I think.
7)Zweigeltrebe: The last red - I actually gave the rest of it to M.
*8)Bobulky: Okay - this is the greatest wine I've ever had and I will definitely bring a bottle back to the US. For the Czechs, this is a very special and expensive dessert wine. A bottle is about 300kc or $25. It's a straw wine, meaning they lay the grapes out for a while and so there's a very small production yield. Of all the wines we tried, I recommend this.
All throughout the tasting there was cheese, bread, and an assortment of gray and odd pink meats that I don't think I would have touched even if I was a meat-eater. Also grapes, red peppers, and olives. It was a pretty lovely evening and the Vinna Galerie was cool because it had been in a movie, so they had pictures from the film all around. There was also a live (and lively!) band of men who played some upbeat music like Hava Nagila.
Quelqu'un m'a dit
Meanwhile, our new French friends taught us some phrases (You are my sunshine/Tu es mon rayon soleil) and apparently "beet" (the purplish vegetable) sounds like the French word for "dick", while "chat" (cat) is actually pussy...so basically we've been unwittingly saying dirty things all through high school...how secretly amused must Madame S have been?!
They taught us about the different French regions and why some French know German (but are not German!). There's a wine festival along the beach in France sometime in the spring that I'd really love to go to while I'm in Europe...along with Queen's Day in the Netherlands that is.
Modern Love
Otherwise I'm looking forward to tea and possibly staying over at my Czech friend M's house when she's finished with her English language exams. She lives in Olomouc which is about 2 hours away. She's also teaching English with us - she's a very bright and intelligent young woman who loves traveling. Her story is actually as international as it is sweet - she met her boyfriend, an Englishman, while doing research in Honduras and found she couldn't be without him. At one point, she traveled for 40 hours just to be with him before he left for another destination. She says, "We have the same soul. We want to spend our life traveling." For anyone (like my sister) who imagines the Czech people as an old, crinkled woman with a scarf on her head, I think M is a good representation of the very much connected youth of Central Europe.
Last Chance to Lose Your Keys
During our lunch break on Wednesday, M wanted to take a picture of the "Revoluce" (Revolution) art sculpture in a nearby park. It's about 20 feet high and spells "Revoluce" vertically in a shining arrangement of keys - house keys, brass keys, colored keys. It is in remembrance of the Velvet Revolution, when the Czech people stood up against the regime and shook their keys in the streets. Michelle proudly tells me that of all the countries under the regime, the Czechs were the only ones brave enough to stand up and speak out. It's called the Velvet Revolution because the transition was smooth like velvet, and there was minimal violence. All the keys in the sculpture were donated by the Czech people - making it more than art, but also a piece of history.
Coin Laundry
I went to Clubwash yesterday to do my laundry. Almost got lost, and had that terrible feeling like I was in a bad part of town. Saw some people dressed as spacemen and a white Christmas tree and that gave me some comfort. It took a long time - left at 6 and got back around 10:30 - but I'd do it again with some friends. It's nice because you can just drop off your clothes and they do everything for you. I had some Svijany beer there and it was good. Read a bit more of "Great Expectations" while people came and went. There seemed to be a pub-crawl-contest going on so these groups would come in and get a beer, take pictures, and move on to the next pub. Clubwash is nice because you hear a mix of languages and accents. Two loads of laundry, two beers, and a bag of chips cost me $20 though - which sucks terribly - but at least I have clean clothes again.
Choose Life
So my plans for the upcoming week include an Opera on the 10th and my first "real" lesson on Monday - teaching them about present perfect simple and continuous tense (wish me luck!). Then tea with Michelle on the 12th and possibly seeing Black Swan with Czech subtitles with R. B wants to teach me how to wash my clothes by hand - don't know how I feel about that - could just be the spoiled American in me.
They Remind Me Too Much of You
Today is the 12th year anniversary of my grandmother's death. It was a turning point in my life, much in the same way I think coming to Brno is going to be. A new chapter starts here. The world feels upside down. Things don't always make sense anymore, like the logical order of things has been shuffled and scattered like Scrabble tiles. Then, slowly, the pieces rearrange and something new breathes into life.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
It's All Too Much
I know I was supposed to post pictures, but guess what? Brno is like a
high school girl - pretty up close, but not very photogenic. Building
after building with crisscrossing, electrified trolley lines marking up
the sky like black crayon over a priceless painting. I love the uneven
pavement and pastel buildings with their hidden faces and stained glass -
but like many things here - it just doesn't seem to translate. Perhaps
on another sunny day....
Plus this week was full of nightmares. I was late, lost an earring, skipped meals, constantly felt like an idiot...the normal annoyances of life compounded with the uncertainty of new people and places. It's not all that bad, but it's not that great either. I need a smoke and a starry night - things understood in every language.
I've been trying to think of things to say for the benefit of you - whoever you are - reading this. You want to hear about this place you may have never been to. You want to know what's different, and what's the same. You want to know what you're missing, or feel justified for choosing to stay just where you are. You don't care much about the writer beyond my style and level of ability. Maybe a joke or two would impress you, and a feeling of voyeuristic intimacy will keep you coming back.
So know this: Brno is the place where you were born. It is the place where you learned to ride a bike and where you went to high school. It is your first love and your first heartbreak. Brno is the sun that rises and the moon that streams through an open window at 4am when you can't sleep. It is the breathy silence of a library. The McDonald's downtown and the second hand shop you always pass on your way to work but never enter. The electronic music people sing along to in the mall or the car because they know the words and the beat and don't want to think about too much right at that moment. The warmth of another's body next to yours under covers only to return to cold and empty space by morning. Brno is where you are right now, and where you will be tomorrow. Why? Because no matter where you are, you are always within you. You might be in Michigan or Milan, but first and foremost you are in you - the body and soul and head of you - and that is a place from which you can never escape.
You can make changes to this place - this place where you always are. You can decorate it. Make it bigger or smaller. You can drown it in booze or fill it with smoke. You can alter your perception of it. Force happiness or dwell in sadness. But those eyes and that mind...those hands and skin and tongue...those are the landmarks you too often overlook. Those are the true hidden gems of the city of yourself - not a place for tourists or even locals - but the most exclusive and wonderful destinations anyone can ever know.
Traveling is great. Seeing new places: important places, obscure places. Laughing at silly little differences, buying pretty handmade things, wishing we lived this way or being grateful we don't. The physical movement of the world outside an airplane window - tiny dots and smears of color. Watching the ticking of trees from trams and buses and cabs passing by like old cinema film. Then there's the task of wrapping one's mind around the arbitrary nature of language. How a sound has a meaning, and a meaning has a feeling, and what a comfort it is when we can feel the meaning of a sound.
Not everyone is compelled to see and experience the world in such a way as I do. It just never crosses their mind to talk to strangers, to respond to simple and beautiful things, to still hold close the imaginings of their childhood - some people just want to grow up. To be responsible adults with important things to do and important places to be at important times and to get married and raise a family and give to charity because that's what responsible adult-like people do. They have no patience for pretty words.
But I was born responsible. I have always cared for myself. I know about integrity and leadership. I know about maturity and sacrifice. I know about authority, elitism, and power.
I already know what kind of life I don't want to live - and perhaps my dreams and expectations and pretty words are too much - but I'd still prefer being all too much than much too little.
I'd rather be an explosion of mismatching colors.
I'd rather be the curling black iron on a balcony.
I'd rather be a twisting labyrinth of secret streets.
A bold statue observing the strangers who wonder among paths lined with trees.
A curved window on the top floor with a sill large enough for me and my book.
Golden halos around archaic faces high on a steeple-top.
Smokey rooms full of cheap beer and rich laughter.
Commuting trams shrieking on the rails while bursts of electricity pop and sparkle along the wires crisscrossing the sky.
This is Brno. My Brno. Me.
Plus this week was full of nightmares. I was late, lost an earring, skipped meals, constantly felt like an idiot...the normal annoyances of life compounded with the uncertainty of new people and places. It's not all that bad, but it's not that great either. I need a smoke and a starry night - things understood in every language.
I've been trying to think of things to say for the benefit of you - whoever you are - reading this. You want to hear about this place you may have never been to. You want to know what's different, and what's the same. You want to know what you're missing, or feel justified for choosing to stay just where you are. You don't care much about the writer beyond my style and level of ability. Maybe a joke or two would impress you, and a feeling of voyeuristic intimacy will keep you coming back.
So know this: Brno is the place where you were born. It is the place where you learned to ride a bike and where you went to high school. It is your first love and your first heartbreak. Brno is the sun that rises and the moon that streams through an open window at 4am when you can't sleep. It is the breathy silence of a library. The McDonald's downtown and the second hand shop you always pass on your way to work but never enter. The electronic music people sing along to in the mall or the car because they know the words and the beat and don't want to think about too much right at that moment. The warmth of another's body next to yours under covers only to return to cold and empty space by morning. Brno is where you are right now, and where you will be tomorrow. Why? Because no matter where you are, you are always within you. You might be in Michigan or Milan, but first and foremost you are in you - the body and soul and head of you - and that is a place from which you can never escape.
You can make changes to this place - this place where you always are. You can decorate it. Make it bigger or smaller. You can drown it in booze or fill it with smoke. You can alter your perception of it. Force happiness or dwell in sadness. But those eyes and that mind...those hands and skin and tongue...those are the landmarks you too often overlook. Those are the true hidden gems of the city of yourself - not a place for tourists or even locals - but the most exclusive and wonderful destinations anyone can ever know.
Traveling is great. Seeing new places: important places, obscure places. Laughing at silly little differences, buying pretty handmade things, wishing we lived this way or being grateful we don't. The physical movement of the world outside an airplane window - tiny dots and smears of color. Watching the ticking of trees from trams and buses and cabs passing by like old cinema film. Then there's the task of wrapping one's mind around the arbitrary nature of language. How a sound has a meaning, and a meaning has a feeling, and what a comfort it is when we can feel the meaning of a sound.
Not everyone is compelled to see and experience the world in such a way as I do. It just never crosses their mind to talk to strangers, to respond to simple and beautiful things, to still hold close the imaginings of their childhood - some people just want to grow up. To be responsible adults with important things to do and important places to be at important times and to get married and raise a family and give to charity because that's what responsible adult-like people do. They have no patience for pretty words.
But I was born responsible. I have always cared for myself. I know about integrity and leadership. I know about maturity and sacrifice. I know about authority, elitism, and power.
I already know what kind of life I don't want to live - and perhaps my dreams and expectations and pretty words are too much - but I'd still prefer being all too much than much too little.
I'd rather be an explosion of mismatching colors.
I'd rather be the curling black iron on a balcony.
I'd rather be a twisting labyrinth of secret streets.
A bold statue observing the strangers who wonder among paths lined with trees.
A curved window on the top floor with a sill large enough for me and my book.
Golden halos around archaic faces high on a steeple-top.
Smokey rooms full of cheap beer and rich laughter.
Commuting trams shrieking on the rails while bursts of electricity pop and sparkle along the wires crisscrossing the sky.
This is Brno. My Brno. Me.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
If I Were a Boy
Thank you, Czech Republic, for your explicit yet tolerable sexism...
On Wednesdays we meet in the nearby Faculty of Economics building for Country Presentations. Each week, students present their home country's culture, food, and idiosyncrasies. The first presentation was, of course, the Czech Republic. Between fast facts and history they showed us commercials that I doubt would have even been on cable in the US - well, Spike TV maybe - and a whole series called something like "Czech Beauties". One photo after another of highly sexual women who share both a nation of origin and a similar dress size. We cheered when they finally showed "Czech Men" but then covered our eyes in horror at the beer bellies and hair....
It was good fun - but as always there's something more beneath the surface. As a Feminist and a Women Studies minor I just naturally see all sides of this "Gender Play"....the entertaining stage, behind the curtain, and from the gaze of the audience. For now, as a student abroad I prefer to take a tourist stance - just trying to understand what's going on here without judging. I'm also still very much in the Western World with our KFC and McDonald's and American music everywhere, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that the most traditional women I've met actually come from the Midwestern United States...
I have to force myself to pause before reaching a door so I'm not running into my guy-friends who will inevitably reach to open it for me. It's sweet. It's part of the culture. It's a simple sign of respect. When I open it for them, they don't seem upset or anything. That's how it's meant, and it's how I will take it. It's the same sort of culture difference as waiting until everyone has food before you eat, or wishing someone a good meal. My friend B from Turkey even educated me on the custom of always saying "get well soon" or "feel better" if someone tells you they're sick. In America, we don't seem to have social policies that apply to every situation - beyond maybe saying "bless you" when someone sneezes - and even then you just do it when you feel like it and nobody is going to be too insulted if you don't. For me, being nice is more about making someone feel good than fulfilling an expectation.
Unlike some other countries I've heard of (Ireland) nobody looks twice when I order a beer. I've only been here two weeks, but I haven't once heard a negative remark or a "that's not a woman's place" kind of comment. The closest I've come to the Parks & Recreation-esque "women can't make decisions because they need the blood for their baby centers" comment was actually in response to my being Vegetarian - without "meat protein" your brain deteriorates and you get weak - not about being a woman.
Maybe it's a sign of changing times. Maybe it's just the college atmosphere. It's hard to know for sure. I think if I lived here it might be a very different story. I haven't been in business buildings and I don't know much about their politics or technology - the most I've seen is of the insides of pubs and shopping centers and classrooms - each with a good mix of women and men but who knows about what it's like to find work past that. Is there a difference in pay like in the US? In competitive professions, it's still 70 cents or so for every dollar a man makes for the same job. Any insight from my local friends would be much appreciated.
Blinking and Breathing
Mostly my experience here has been about learning to notice things. It's disconcerting. I've always been an "observer" but now it's like reminding myself to breathe - you're getting down to an almost cellular level of culture, of language, of human nature.
On an academic level, it's about learning how you learned your own language. I have hundreds of topics to review in order to be a good English language teacher. Foreign speakers seem to know more about my language than I do, having had to learn it from an outside perspective. They talk daily about grammar and prepositions and adverb phrases...things that make my head spin. I can go on forever about metaphors and allegories, but absolute phrases...I've got some studying to do...
Good Friends (Aren't) Hard To Find
No matter what country people are coming from or what their mother tongue is, we're all in the same boat in Vinarska. We're only here for about four months, and we all want to have the best experience possible. For some people, that seems to mean being as intoxicated as their body will allow, for others it is seeing everything they can. A few seem to be focused on their actual education. For me, it's a bit of a mix.
I'm really enjoying the city of Brno, with its serpentine streets full of shops, food and gorgeous, old, colorful buildings. My classes are the best I've ever had - I haven't felt myself learning since middle school. Teaching is becoming a really wonderful challenge for me, and I'm enjoying it. Our class is 11 or 12 adults between about 23 and 35 years old. Three are working toward a Ph.D. The beginner level class has a younger dynamic, but we won't teach them until April. My first lesson was good, and on Monday I have a Listening and Speaking lesson. So far, I really love it - and I love my increasingly positive job outlook as well.
"I'm the king of the elevator!"
Some of the most fun I've had has been while exploring the bookstores, cafes, and brick sidewalks of the city with friends. It was a party at Mandarin where I finished my first whole beer - I definitely do not have a European tolerance for alcohol. On Friday we ate at a very touristy "medieval" restaurant that had real candles burning everywhere and I wondered how many times people had caught their coats on fire. I ordered an herbal mead and a dumpling. The mead arrived literally smoking like a potion and the dumpling had a sparkler in it. Meanwhile, thundering music boomed from the musty cellar and we were sure this meal would be our last. It was fun, and we made plans to go out on Fridays to discover new and interesting places to eat - like the pub run by nuns. Last night a friend and I watched the 1961 Rock Hudson/Doris Day movie "Lover Come Back" - an awesome night of old films, music, pasta, and a beer that I hope becomes a tradition too.
Plans
So looking ahead, on Tuesday I've signed up for wine tasting. Nine South Moravian wines and some dinner - hopefully I'll find something I like enough to buy and bring back as a gift - then on Thursday the 10th we're going to see the opera The Marriage of Figaro.
How Wrong We Were To Think That Immortality Meant Never Dying
My first real big trip/adventure/dream is for March 17th - 20th. In high school, my favorite band was My Chemical Romance, and they'll always have a special place in my heart even if my current music tastes wear a lot less make up. Well, they're playing a show in Stockholm on March 18th and I really want to go - but arranging transport, a hostel, and stuff to do besides the concert is probably going to be over my budget. I'd really love to see Stockholm in general - and being in the most atheist country in the world has always been on my bucket list. We shall see.
A Day in the Life
Besides teaching tomorrow, my goal is to do a photo-post of my normal day. I'll carry my camera and just take pictures of the things I see and do on a normal basis. So there's something to check back for. <3s L.
On Wednesdays we meet in the nearby Faculty of Economics building for Country Presentations. Each week, students present their home country's culture, food, and idiosyncrasies. The first presentation was, of course, the Czech Republic. Between fast facts and history they showed us commercials that I doubt would have even been on cable in the US - well, Spike TV maybe - and a whole series called something like "Czech Beauties". One photo after another of highly sexual women who share both a nation of origin and a similar dress size. We cheered when they finally showed "Czech Men" but then covered our eyes in horror at the beer bellies and hair....
It was good fun - but as always there's something more beneath the surface. As a Feminist and a Women Studies minor I just naturally see all sides of this "Gender Play"....the entertaining stage, behind the curtain, and from the gaze of the audience. For now, as a student abroad I prefer to take a tourist stance - just trying to understand what's going on here without judging. I'm also still very much in the Western World with our KFC and McDonald's and American music everywhere, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that the most traditional women I've met actually come from the Midwestern United States...
I have to force myself to pause before reaching a door so I'm not running into my guy-friends who will inevitably reach to open it for me. It's sweet. It's part of the culture. It's a simple sign of respect. When I open it for them, they don't seem upset or anything. That's how it's meant, and it's how I will take it. It's the same sort of culture difference as waiting until everyone has food before you eat, or wishing someone a good meal. My friend B from Turkey even educated me on the custom of always saying "get well soon" or "feel better" if someone tells you they're sick. In America, we don't seem to have social policies that apply to every situation - beyond maybe saying "bless you" when someone sneezes - and even then you just do it when you feel like it and nobody is going to be too insulted if you don't. For me, being nice is more about making someone feel good than fulfilling an expectation.
Unlike some other countries I've heard of (Ireland) nobody looks twice when I order a beer. I've only been here two weeks, but I haven't once heard a negative remark or a "that's not a woman's place" kind of comment. The closest I've come to the Parks & Recreation-esque "women can't make decisions because they need the blood for their baby centers" comment was actually in response to my being Vegetarian - without "meat protein" your brain deteriorates and you get weak - not about being a woman.
Maybe it's a sign of changing times. Maybe it's just the college atmosphere. It's hard to know for sure. I think if I lived here it might be a very different story. I haven't been in business buildings and I don't know much about their politics or technology - the most I've seen is of the insides of pubs and shopping centers and classrooms - each with a good mix of women and men but who knows about what it's like to find work past that. Is there a difference in pay like in the US? In competitive professions, it's still 70 cents or so for every dollar a man makes for the same job. Any insight from my local friends would be much appreciated.
Blinking and Breathing
Mostly my experience here has been about learning to notice things. It's disconcerting. I've always been an "observer" but now it's like reminding myself to breathe - you're getting down to an almost cellular level of culture, of language, of human nature.
On an academic level, it's about learning how you learned your own language. I have hundreds of topics to review in order to be a good English language teacher. Foreign speakers seem to know more about my language than I do, having had to learn it from an outside perspective. They talk daily about grammar and prepositions and adverb phrases...things that make my head spin. I can go on forever about metaphors and allegories, but absolute phrases...I've got some studying to do...
Good Friends (Aren't) Hard To Find
No matter what country people are coming from or what their mother tongue is, we're all in the same boat in Vinarska. We're only here for about four months, and we all want to have the best experience possible. For some people, that seems to mean being as intoxicated as their body will allow, for others it is seeing everything they can. A few seem to be focused on their actual education. For me, it's a bit of a mix.
I'm really enjoying the city of Brno, with its serpentine streets full of shops, food and gorgeous, old, colorful buildings. My classes are the best I've ever had - I haven't felt myself learning since middle school. Teaching is becoming a really wonderful challenge for me, and I'm enjoying it. Our class is 11 or 12 adults between about 23 and 35 years old. Three are working toward a Ph.D. The beginner level class has a younger dynamic, but we won't teach them until April. My first lesson was good, and on Monday I have a Listening and Speaking lesson. So far, I really love it - and I love my increasingly positive job outlook as well.
"I'm the king of the elevator!"
Some of the most fun I've had has been while exploring the bookstores, cafes, and brick sidewalks of the city with friends. It was a party at Mandarin where I finished my first whole beer - I definitely do not have a European tolerance for alcohol. On Friday we ate at a very touristy "medieval" restaurant that had real candles burning everywhere and I wondered how many times people had caught their coats on fire. I ordered an herbal mead and a dumpling. The mead arrived literally smoking like a potion and the dumpling had a sparkler in it. Meanwhile, thundering music boomed from the musty cellar and we were sure this meal would be our last. It was fun, and we made plans to go out on Fridays to discover new and interesting places to eat - like the pub run by nuns. Last night a friend and I watched the 1961 Rock Hudson/Doris Day movie "Lover Come Back" - an awesome night of old films, music, pasta, and a beer that I hope becomes a tradition too.
Plans
So looking ahead, on Tuesday I've signed up for wine tasting. Nine South Moravian wines and some dinner - hopefully I'll find something I like enough to buy and bring back as a gift - then on Thursday the 10th we're going to see the opera The Marriage of Figaro.
How Wrong We Were To Think That Immortality Meant Never Dying
My first real big trip/adventure/dream is for March 17th - 20th. In high school, my favorite band was My Chemical Romance, and they'll always have a special place in my heart even if my current music tastes wear a lot less make up. Well, they're playing a show in Stockholm on March 18th and I really want to go - but arranging transport, a hostel, and stuff to do besides the concert is probably going to be over my budget. I'd really love to see Stockholm in general - and being in the most atheist country in the world has always been on my bucket list. We shall see.
A Day in the Life
Besides teaching tomorrow, my goal is to do a photo-post of my normal day. I'll carry my camera and just take pictures of the things I see and do on a normal basis. So there's something to check back for. <3s L.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
"You've got a soul, use it"
Dobry den!
My first week in the Czech Republic has been - in a word - long.
I can't help but feel I have been here for over a month already. I have seen so much that I have never seen before. Heard so many sounds and walked on so much ground that I have never known before. No matter what expectations I might have had, nothing could have prepared me for this.
I am a TESOL TE student at Masaryk University for this spring 2011 semester, working toward my CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults). My first class is on Monday and I'm supposed to stand in front of twelve students for 30 minutes without making an ass of myself. Let's cross our fingers and close our eyes tight and hope.
College, Beer, and Other Intoxicates
Brno is the definition of a College Town. Every night of the week, drinking and parties are more common than unflavored, still water (don't even get me started on the love of fizzy, fruity water here). This is both awesome and entirely obnoxious. I barely even party in the states. Drinking has a different meaning here, however. In Brno and the Czech Republic, it is perfectly normal to have a beer or two at lunch (some even report having one at breakfast). But even that's a different grade than the kind they'll drink at dinner. Maybe the reason I don't party at home is because American beer tastes like hell - Czech beer (and wine!) on the other hand is absolutely delicious. And cheap. Holy shit is everything here cheap.
Money
A good beer in America is about $3-$10 depending on what you drink and where you are. For a beer like Pegas - brewed exclusively in Brno - you'd have to be the King of Hipsters to even find the damn thing, forget how much you'd shell out for it. Here, it cost me 33kc (czech crowns, or korunas). That's the same at $1.80. While prices here are unbelievable, I can't help but wonder what the minimum wage is and how the every day person must struggle for - or simply live without - what Americans take for granted every day.
Culture Clash
Something unique about choosing to study in Brno instead of London, or Ireland, or France is that the Czech Republic is a crossroads of cultures. I've made friends from Turkey, Germany, the Netherlands, Poland, France, Bulgaria, Hungary, America, England, Greece, Spain, Brazil, Canada, South Korea, China, Latvia....okay...you get the point. I honestly didn't have many stereotypes in mind about Europe - except maybe the misconception that it could be thought of like a whole entity. Each country has it's own identity, and own issues, with the others. Of course, as students we're all trying to get along with each other as best we can. I'll write more on this in detail later. It deserves a post all its own.
Food and Favorite Things
I need to go soon actually - we're going to a Fashion Market at 2pm and then Laundry at Clubwash (a laundromat and pub in one...enough said) later this afternoon. Before I go, I have to say I love the food here. Vegetarian dishes and menu options are aplenty and everything just tastes better. Somehow the produce in the supermarket is big and fresh despite it being February (genetic engineering maybe?) and they don't fuck with food the same way they do in America. The Czechs have a love of potatoes and this cheese I still can't identify but it's like super thick Mozzarella.
Another awesome part of Brno is the transit system. There are trams and buses and a small airport - public transport is a big part of life. There are cars too of course, but I can get anywhere I need to by bus, tram or walking. Having a car in Ithaca - I'm really enjoying being a passenger again.
It's been difficult getting used to a new city and new people - plus a new language that looks more like someone bashed the keyboard than an attempt to communicate - but each day gets a little better. I will write more soon.
To my friends, I love you.
To all else, peace be with you, and I probably love you too.
-L.
*Please leave comments! If you have any questions, I'll answer it in my next post.
My first week in the Czech Republic has been - in a word - long.
I can't help but feel I have been here for over a month already. I have seen so much that I have never seen before. Heard so many sounds and walked on so much ground that I have never known before. No matter what expectations I might have had, nothing could have prepared me for this.
I am a TESOL TE student at Masaryk University for this spring 2011 semester, working toward my CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults). My first class is on Monday and I'm supposed to stand in front of twelve students for 30 minutes without making an ass of myself. Let's cross our fingers and close our eyes tight and hope.
College, Beer, and Other Intoxicates
Brno is the definition of a College Town. Every night of the week, drinking and parties are more common than unflavored, still water (don't even get me started on the love of fizzy, fruity water here). This is both awesome and entirely obnoxious. I barely even party in the states. Drinking has a different meaning here, however. In Brno and the Czech Republic, it is perfectly normal to have a beer or two at lunch (some even report having one at breakfast). But even that's a different grade than the kind they'll drink at dinner. Maybe the reason I don't party at home is because American beer tastes like hell - Czech beer (and wine!) on the other hand is absolutely delicious. And cheap. Holy shit is everything here cheap.
Money
A good beer in America is about $3-$10 depending on what you drink and where you are. For a beer like Pegas - brewed exclusively in Brno - you'd have to be the King of Hipsters to even find the damn thing, forget how much you'd shell out for it. Here, it cost me 33kc (czech crowns, or korunas). That's the same at $1.80. While prices here are unbelievable, I can't help but wonder what the minimum wage is and how the every day person must struggle for - or simply live without - what Americans take for granted every day.
Culture Clash
Something unique about choosing to study in Brno instead of London, or Ireland, or France is that the Czech Republic is a crossroads of cultures. I've made friends from Turkey, Germany, the Netherlands, Poland, France, Bulgaria, Hungary, America, England, Greece, Spain, Brazil, Canada, South Korea, China, Latvia....okay...you get the point. I honestly didn't have many stereotypes in mind about Europe - except maybe the misconception that it could be thought of like a whole entity. Each country has it's own identity, and own issues, with the others. Of course, as students we're all trying to get along with each other as best we can. I'll write more on this in detail later. It deserves a post all its own.
Food and Favorite Things
I need to go soon actually - we're going to a Fashion Market at 2pm and then Laundry at Clubwash (a laundromat and pub in one...enough said) later this afternoon. Before I go, I have to say I love the food here. Vegetarian dishes and menu options are aplenty and everything just tastes better. Somehow the produce in the supermarket is big and fresh despite it being February (genetic engineering maybe?) and they don't fuck with food the same way they do in America. The Czechs have a love of potatoes and this cheese I still can't identify but it's like super thick Mozzarella.
Another awesome part of Brno is the transit system. There are trams and buses and a small airport - public transport is a big part of life. There are cars too of course, but I can get anywhere I need to by bus, tram or walking. Having a car in Ithaca - I'm really enjoying being a passenger again.
It's been difficult getting used to a new city and new people - plus a new language that looks more like someone bashed the keyboard than an attempt to communicate - but each day gets a little better. I will write more soon.
To my friends, I love you.
To all else, peace be with you, and I probably love you too.
-L.
*Please leave comments! If you have any questions, I'll answer it in my next post.
Monday, September 6, 2010
what came to mind (after watching the suitcase)
I am the deep seeded thought in the black of your mind.
What you try to push out – try to forget – try to not let
Get in the way of your comings and goings
Your everyday contentment
If you let me in, just a nudge, just a crack
I will fill you with my darkness
With my truth
Of the speck of this world, of death
And you can do nothing but cry
Alone in the small of a room
And watch the happy people pass you by
What you try to push out – try to forget – try to not let
Get in the way of your comings and goings
Your everyday contentment
If you let me in, just a nudge, just a crack
I will fill you with my darkness
With my truth
Of the speck of this world, of death
And you can do nothing but cry
Alone in the small of a room
And watch the happy people pass you by
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Unicorn at the Glue Factory
✨️
“How is she
doing?”
“Fine, I guess.”
Eva’s
curls glinted in the sunlight falling unto her desk. She folded her hands, weaving together thin pale
fingers, each tipped with flawless strokes of ruby red polish. “Why only a
guess, Paxton?” She cleared her throat, “I mean, you’re her father; why don’t
you ask her how she’s feeling?” She looked him over; beneath the thick ridge of
his glasses, Paxton’s eyes were lined and puffy with the bruised purple of
sleeplessness. His hair was becoming more salt than pepper. Yet, even in
his age, he pulsed with the forbidding venerability. “Kacie just doesn’t…” His
shoulders lifted as though it hurt to breathe, “She doesn’t laugh anymore, not
for over a year now. Ever since Angie…”
“Let’s
not talk about her, okay?” Paxton looked away, ashamed that he could still be so
sentimental. It was Angie's choice to leave. There wasn't anything he could have done. The things he's had to tell himself to get any sleep at night...
Eva stood and walked around her desk, heels clicking below a
crisp, white lab coat. Laying her hand on his arm, he looked up into her eyes: one brown, one green. She was like magic to him. “Everything is going to be all right. Kacie lost her mother at a younger
age than most. She just needs to get comfortable. How about letting me spend
some time, alone, with her today? I’ll give her a tour…”
“I
don’t think that’s a good idea, Eva.”
“Don’t
worry” Eve whispered, bending low to Paxton’s ear, “I will be discrete.”
Paxton pushed up
from his chair, an unsteady hand reached out to the desk, knocking over some
pens and a brass nameplate which fell to the floor with a thunk. Eva grasped
his arms, “Are you okay?” “Sorry about that”, he wasn’t looking at her. Eva
tilted his stubbled chin upward, and kissed him. Pulling back, she said, “Just
give me today.”
“If
Kacie gives you any problems, call me. I’ll probably be in my office.”
As
the door clicked behind him, Eva picked up the nameplate. In the window light,
her eyes, almonds laced with waves of mascara, reflected back from the polished
golden angles of her name: Eva Darian, Chief Adhesive Scientist.
~ * ~
Kacie
sat in an uncomfortable chair in the florescent lit hallway of her father’s
workplace, face hidden behind the covers of a book. The peeling sticker on her sweater
read “Kacie Phillips” in cutesy black ink above bright blue “Hello! My name
is”. Thoughtful little hearts dotting each of the three “I”s. To the dismay of
the secretary however, green crayon, similar to the one tucked behind Kacie’s
left ear, scrawled out “Bitch” in the remaining white space.
Eva
clicked across the linoleum, nodding politely to the now relived secretary.
Kacie didn’t look up. “Hi Kacie. Welcome to United Adhesive”, Eva smiled, Kacie
ignored her. “Whatcha reading?” Kacie turned the page, Eva cleared her throat.
“I want to take you on a tour today, would you like that?” Without reaching the
end, the young girl turned the page again. Not one to be dismissed, especially
by a middle schooler, Eva leaned close to the back of Kacie’s book. “Listen,
you should give me a chance. It might even be fun. It’s important that you’re open
to new things. It’s best for you, and your father.”
Staring
at the book now, Kacie’s fingers began to crinkle the edge of the pages, from
behind the hard covers she growled, “You might be my dad’s girlfriend, but
don’t ever expect to be my mom”. Eva’s lips pursed, her back straightened.
Snatching the book from Kacie’s hands, she shut it with an echoing slap. “I
want you to come with me. I have something to show you.” Kacie’s face went red;
her arms folded close to her chest with a stubbornness that reminded Eva of
Paxton. Eva’s voice softened, lowered so even the secretary couldn’t hear, “Kacie,
can you keep a secret?”
~ * ~
Next
to Eva’s tapping heels, Kacie shuffled, stepping on the white tails of her
baggy jeans. As they walked, Eva would point out an old picture along the
corridor on the left, or some kind of bottle on a pedestal under glass to the
right, but they didn’t stop. “Adhesive’s are everywhere, and have been since
the times of the ancient Sumerians.” Without turning to face her, Eva asked,
“Did you know that even hairspray is an adhesive?” and without waiting for a
reply, Eva began to list all kinds of sticky substances, “Tape, stickers,
post-it notes, labels, stamps!” She smiled, her voice becoming more breathless
and excited as they reached a stairwell, “Hot glue, super glue, glue sticks, glitter
glue. Glue for every need, made of a variety of compounds. You’ve got beeswax
glue, plant cellulous glue, animal hide glue….”
“Animal
hide glue?” Kacie looked like she might be a little ill.
“Yes.”
Eva’s smile seemed to whiten as it widened, “In China they have Ejiao – donkey
hide glue. It’s used in medicine to stop bleeding. And then there’s Isinglass,
a fish bladder glue, used to…”
“Stop!
Please, you’re making me sick.” Kacie grabbed her stomach dramatically.
The
spark faded from Eva’s eyes, “Well, since the 20th century, most
adhesives are synthetic.” Kacie relaxed, but Eva’s body seemed to absorb her
repulsion. “We’re here”.
They stood before a heavy unmarked door. Even from the hallway, Kacie could make out the faint
sent of barn and…was it strawberries? Anything that didn’t smell like glue was
instantly amplified one hundred fold. Eva swiped her ID badge and the door
unlocked with a tiny beep. Walking into the dim room, hay crinkled and slipped
beneath their feet. One half of the room was set up as a laboratory, while in
the other –
“What the hell is that?” Kacie said, just a little too loud.
“Hush, it’s the secret I wanted to
show you.” Eva took Kacie’s hand, who distractedly let her. Leading the wide
eyed girl to the pen, Eva whispered, “Isn’t it amazing?” Kacie just stared. Eva
gave her hand a little squeeze, “Hey, watch your language, okay?” Kacie tugged
back and put both hands on the fence before her, “It’s really….ugly.” The
animal was shaped like a donkey, a dirty matte gray with bristles instead of
hair. The teeth were big and bucked, with drool globbing from its lips. Its
cloven hooves were covered in muck and looked hardly able to hold it up on its
knobby legs. In fact, the whole animal looked like just bones and skin, with a
deformed, white lump on the center of its head.
“So what, exactly, is so special
about this thing?”
“Don’t you want to pet it?”
Kacie scrunched up her nose, “Not
really. What is it?”
“In China, they call it a Quilin. In
Japan, a Kirin.”
“Isn’t that where you’re from?”
“Close enough.” Eva bent down, the
edge of her pressed lab coat just inches off the floor. “Do you know what this
is, Kacie?” She shook her head. “It’s a unicorn”.
Silence
crept between them. Kacie stared deep into Eva’s face, as if she could find
truth there. A sideways glance at the beast, and back at Eva, Kacie’s eyes
narrowed. “You’re so full of it”, she said, pushing her away. Eva caught her
balance on the fence and pulled herself up. “It’s the truth.”
“Where’s its horn? White hair? Lazer eyes? Shouldn’t there be rainbows coming out of its ass or something?”
“Kacie!” Eva scolded.
“Yeah, where’s the ma-gic Ev-a?! I’m 12 years old! Just how stupid do you think I am?”
“Kacie,
I am telling you the truth!”
“Just
wait until my dad hears this one”, enlightenment glowed from Kacie’s face,
“he’ll never stay with you now, not after he knows you’re a psycho.” With a
flying crunch of hay and a slamming door, Kacie was gone to find her father’s
office, leaving Eva alone in the dim of her defeat with an ugly, drooling
unicorn.
~
* ~
Paxton
was not happy. One hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his eyes were flooded with
disappointment and Eva began to drown within them. “What have you done?”
“I
didn’t realize she wouldn’t believe me.”
“That’s
not the point Eva. This was not meant for her.” Kacie started to squirm under
his grip. “Dad, let’s get out of here. She’s obviously insane.”
Paxton
looked down on his daughter. So much like her mother, Angie, yet full of more
anger than he’d seen in most men. Eva was still beautiful, even in the shadows.
She seemed to be constantly risking things for him – her job, her reputation,
her sanity. He owed her something for that. “She is not insane, Kacie. Eva is
telling you the truth.” Kacie’s mouth gaped as though she’d been slapped in
the face, “You’re taking her side?”
“No,
not her side; our side. It really is a unicorn. And it might just save us all.”
Paxton sighed; rather than having a heavy weight lift from his shoulders, more
seemed to pile on.
“What
do you mean?”
“This—unicorn—is
very sick. It’s dying. We are going to see if any of its abilities can be
retained in…another form.”
“Abilities?
So it is magic?”
“No,
not quite.” Paxton kneeled down in the hay, as Eva rolled over a chair. “Thank
you dear”. Eva put her hand on his shoulder, and spoke “Maybe it would be
better if you knew how it got here, first. I brought it home with me, from
India….”
“I
thought you were from China?”
“Close
enough.”
“Not
really, there’s kinda a big difference…”
Eva’s
voice was exasperated, “Well I'm not there anymore. I had to run away, and there's nothing for me to go back to. I'm here now." Upset but undeterred, she snapped, "Do you want to know why there’s a unicorn in a glue
factory, or not?” In Kacie’s silence,
she continued.
“In
India, as a small girl, I was a bookworm too. I loved fantasy and myths, and my
father encouraged me to dream. My mother, however, was not so appeasing. She
felt I would never be married or successful if I kept shutting myself away with
my stories. When my father died, she enrolled me in a private school, and I
never went home again.”
Feigning
boredom, Kacie yawned widely, “And what does that have to do with Unicorns?”
“My
final term, I snuck out with friends during a particularly starry night. There
was a clearing, almost like a mirage. That’s where we saw them for the first
time.” Eva shifted, her face suddenly losing any trace of its usual joy. “We
all walked together, toward the beasts. They had long horns, dusk-blue hair. We
touched them and they seemed to hum, like a cat purring. For weeks afterward,
my friends and I would sneak out of our beds and walk with them in the
moonlight. Once, I stumbled and cut open my knee. One of the animals walked
toward me, and licked the wound. I was healed. We told no one. Or at least, I
told no one.” Eva’s voice lowered, “Then, one night, as we were leaving the
grounds – I was spotted. The others ran ahead, while I was disciplined and sent
back to bed. I waited for over an hour to leave again. When I finally got to
the clearing, everyone was gone.”
“Gone?”
“They
were never seen again.”
Kacie’s
eyes were wide and horrified. Paxton got out of his chair, his voice wary, “We’re
not telling you this to scare you dear. We need you to know the truth. Are you
okay?”
Kacie
swallowed, his voice shaky, “What about the unicorns?”
“I
do not know. Police began to ask questions. No one would believe me, I knew
that. Having no family to hold me back, I escaped India, and tried to forget.”
“Then
where did you get the unicorn?” Kacie looked over at the pen, scrunching up her
nose, “You are pretty sure it’s a unicorn, aren’t you?”
“My
mother died last year, the same time as Angie - your mother." Eva's face was clearly pained. "I went back to India, but I did
not go to her funeral. I went back to the clearing. This is what I found”, her
hand waved toward the beast, “It was tiny, small enough to sneak through
customs. I wanted answers; I wanted to know that…it wasn’t my fault.”
“Okay.
So why is it so ugly?”
“I
don’t know. Maybe it’s deformed, abandoned by its herd. Maybe it was all the
testing. But we have reason, good reason, to believe there is magic within it
yet.”
Kacie
stood straighter, her face mimicking bravery, “and I can help.”
Paxton
shook his head, “No.”
“What
do you mean, No?” Her hands and lip trembled.
“This
is not a job for young girls, Kacie.” Eva soothed.
Pulling
away, disgusted, “What’s going to happen to it?” Vats of boiling water; lime,
an underground laboratory in a glue factory—recognition rose like the morning
sun on Kacie’s face. “Why is it here?”
“We’ve
been studying it, Kacie. We’ve analyzed its hair, its horn, hooves, tail. No
magical properties, no different from a cow or a donkey.”
Paxton
seethed at Eva, “This is not the time, enough stories today, Eva”
“She’s
old enough to know, Paxton!”
“She
is not your daughter!” Paxton heaved, his age pushing him back into the chair.
Eva’s
face was stony, lips pursed. “Maybe not, but this could affect her future,
Paxton. Her’s children’s children’s future. If we are successful, we could save
the world.”
Kacie
stepped close to her father, and hugged him, “Dad, I want to know.”
Her
father nodded, “It’s just like any other animal, except that it hasn’t got any
blood. It’s all bone, and skin, no real body. That’s why it’s here, now, for a
final test.” Paxton held her at arm’s length, frantically searching her eyes
with his, “It’s dying anyway, Kacie, can’t you see? It’s a necessary evil.
Maybe the adhesive it makes will heal broken bones, or maybe even….hearts,
memories. Something metaphysical. A whole new element, capable of sticking two
liquids to each other….Do you understand?”
“You’re
going to turn the unicorn into glue?”
“Yes.”
Kacie
wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Ugly as it was, she wanted the beast to be
real. To be real, it needed to stay alive. Perhaps it had just been a disappointment to its mother, like she had
been. Maybe its mother had tucked it in for bed, and then gone off into no-man’s-land to kill itself, like her mother had. Abandoned, unwanted,
maybe she should be made into glue too.
“There’s
no way I can stop it, is there?”
“No,
Kacie, this is how it must be.”
“Can
I at least pet it first?”
Tears
welled in Eva’s eyes, “Sure.” It was just as bristly and smelly as it looked,
and she got drool on her hand even when she touched its back – but did that
really mean it had to die?
Paxton
took Kacie back upstairs while Eva completed the process of turning the unicorn
into glue. In his office, Kacie didn’t put her feet up on the desk as usual, or
pull down any of his books. She sat silently, obediently, quiet tears dripping
from her nose.
“It’ll
be okay.” Paxton said. “This could really change everything.”
“What
if it isn’t a unicorn, Dad. What if it’s just an animal?”
Paxton
removed his glasses, setting them on the desk with a light click. “There is
something definitely, different, about this animal. We need to see how that can
help us.”
“So
nothing has a purpose unless it benefits you?”
“That’s
not what I said, Kacie.”
“And
if it works? What then.”
“Then
we find others.”
Kacie
slumped in her chair. She couldn’t stop her mom from dying, she couldn’t stop
the unicorn from dying, and deep down in her middle school heart, she knew she
would never be able to stop herself from dying too. No magic in all the world
could stop that. Maybe one day she would just disappear - like Eva's school friends. The way her mother had wanted to go. If no one had found her body, that's how it would have seemed. Paxton’s cell vibrated on the desk. “It’s ready.”
Back
in the secret laboratory, the room was empty except for what looked to Kacie like an
oversized crock pot. The air itself was sticky, and overwhelming. “You can be
the first to look inside, if you want” Eva said, pointing to the small ladder
beside the pot. Kacie climbed the ladder and looked down - here was the hope of her father, of Eva, the future of adhesives and the world – Kacie started to laugh.
“What
is it?” Paxton asked, holding tight to Eva’s hand.
“Is
it a plasma? Is it shifting states of matter? Does it look like magic?” Eva called.
Descending
the ladder, Kacie chuckled, “Look for yourself.”
“Where
are you going?” Paxton called out as she walked to the door, but Kacie just
laughed, echoing all down the hallway.
Together,
Eva and Paxton examined the shimmering and sticky mess, tears falling down
their faces and mixing with the giant vat of simple, useless, glitter glue.
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