I am sitting in on a class this semester about Loyalty, and we have reached the point in our discussions at which to bring in Bonheoffer. Believing the background of this man’s story critical to a proper understanding at least of the context in which he wrote his letters, Prof. Meilaender showed us a film about him.
Neither Bonheoffer or the film are particularly new to me, but it has been some great time since I have read or watched anything to do with him particularly—at least nothing I recall since early high-school.
But I found myself having a very interesting reaction to the film this time around. It managed to trigger a number of memories in my head which I had forgotten, and it upset me.
I moved to Slovakia with my family when I was twelve years old—a very impressionable age—and a few years after the fall of the Iron Curtain. And somehow, I managed to have a lot of the sort of fears expressed in the film.
I had so many nightmares that first year; vivid, torturous, blood-soaked nightmares filled with Nazis and KGB. My parents were killed—sometimes mercifully—in each. I will not describe the dreams to you here, but I can tell you; I remember every single one of them.
There was such a haze of oppression even then that lingered over the country. It probably didn’t help that the war in Kosovo/Serbia took place around then, and our house would shake as the jets flew over and we would wait in long lines of cars while columns upon columns of tanks rolled past. I remember a great scare that same time-frame, too, when it seemed likely that the communist party would reclaim power through the “election” of a man known to be corrupt—suspected even of kidnapping the President’s son! Expatriates had their bags packed and ready to flee, with rendezvous points set up outside the country, and I remember sitting in the sanctuary of my favourite apple tree wondering what would become of all of us.
With the assistance of my older sister, who suffered occasionally from similar nightmares, I mapped out an escape route for her and I to take our younger siblings out of the country to safety with. We never expected to be able to save our parents. We hoped we might be able to get some other children out with us. We made up games where the children had to go through great varieties of physical stress—riding bikes whilst we blasted objects at the wheels (they had to keep going no matter what); making them skirt across iron gates and fences (again, sometimes with objects and mud-balls being hurled at them), and so on. In public school for physical education, the teachers made us climb ropes and scale walls—I always suspected for the same reasons as those “games” I put my siblings through: to give us some capacity for escape.
And though the old government of oppression had fallen, there were shadows of it everywhere. People dressed alike still in those first years of living there, with all in black and grey. Few people asked how anyone else was doing; you didn’t want to know, because you didn’t want to have to report it. Border crossings were still long and hard (though not nearly as long or as hard). Village loudspeaker systems remained in place, used now for simple community reports rather than propaganda, but nevertheless, left over from the not-so-distant past.
And the stories were there. Stories that had always been, but now creeped slowly out into the open. Of my parents’ co-workers, who had been involved in smuggling Bibles. Or of my friends, whose parents or grandparents, aunts or uncles had disappeared into the night courtesy of The Black Cars. Stories of those people who had turned their neighbors, friends, relatives in.
It didn’t help that the police were poor and pulled you over for anything, looking for a bribe from you in order to support their own families. They terrified a twelve year old. It didn’t help that we moved there in winter when the whole world was grey and I had only ever known the colourful warmth and vibrancy of the Caribbean. It didn’t help that we lived in a city, where everyone is stranger to everyone else, when I did not yet understand that concept. It didn’t help that the million and one tiny things which makes a place or country home were all off, or non-existent, in that then-foreign land to me.
And yesterday, as I was mulling over all this in my head and wondering how I should be able to understand these fears, wondering at the nausea that washed over me, wondering how come I had seemed to always have had some of these fears and have known them so vividly already entering Slovakia, I remembered we studied the underground Church in Russia one year when I was seven or nine, and the father was killed and the KGB was everywhere and there were secret meetings and fear—so much fear. And I absorbed it all in my overactive imagination and took it with me to Slovakia, where it had existed, and where the shadows still moved.
I think that one of the reasons I love Slovakia as deeply as I do is because of experiencing those fears, and moving through them with everyone else. When I left the country for the last time two years ago, it had a vibrancy all its own. It had smiles, and laughter, and chatter on the public transportation. It had colourful buildings and clothes, and free theatre and press. It had travel and open (EU) borders. It had a hockey team that won the gold once and made us all go crazy screaming mad with joy and unity. It had its first mall, and then many malls and stores. We wore blue jeans, chewed bubble gum, and listened to rock ‘n’ roll and jazz in cellars and on the open streets. Slovakia fought its way out of the fog of fear and the shadows of oppression, and I was there with it through that, and I am free, too. But I think, the memories and the capacity to understand the incomprehensible will always remain. And that is what I experienced watching the movie in class the other day: the long memory of fear and oppression.
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Disturbances
Sometimes i get so disturbed over the things that i don't know. i want to know everything. Why does that have to be impossible?
I'm learning how to do print-making right now. Prior to last Tuesday night, I had absolutely no idea what that was. Well, I had seen silk screen pieces before (and wondered where the silk was), and I did attend a gallery of prints and listen to the opening speech, but I still didn't understand it. And now, I'm delving in.
But the problem is, I'm not learning it "officially." I'm just trying to pick it up and pick it out of people who do know it. I hate not knowing, and flitting around the studio as the one helpless person who has to harrass everyone else in order to accomplish anything. And furthermore, I just want to know it already. I had my first go at it last Thursday night, from 9 until 11:30 pm! It was wonderful, and I fell in love with it.
Tonight, though, nothing went right. Not even a little bit. My prints didn't come out well. The ink kept drying too fast because my lines were to fine. The gunk didn't come off the screen very well. And then the door was locked to get into a room I needed, so I had to stop after doing...nothing. Nothing but not do what I wanted. I printed off some overhead transparency, so I will be ready to go, but I have nothing good to show for what I learnt on Thursday, and nothing but a mostly clean silk-screen and a transparency or two for the next time i have the chance to try.
I wish I had studied art when I was still in university. Why didn't I? I feel so inept when i try these things out, and I want so badly to know everything about them. And mostly? Mostly I want to paint. When I was little I would always try painting. I even stole my dad's white-board eisel once and set up a little "art studio" of my own in the garage. It didn't last long, but oh how i loved it. I painted a rock once, and it was really good... but then then someone put it outside and it rained. No more painting. I wish I knew how to use brushes and colours and make those things which are so beautiful that I cry when i see them. And I wish that trying to learn them back handedly worked out a little better. But maybe it is enough for now that i am even making the attempt?
I guess I'd rather be disturbed with my life and try to grow it than be fine with my life and live it narrowly.
I'm learning how to do print-making right now. Prior to last Tuesday night, I had absolutely no idea what that was. Well, I had seen silk screen pieces before (and wondered where the silk was), and I did attend a gallery of prints and listen to the opening speech, but I still didn't understand it. And now, I'm delving in.
But the problem is, I'm not learning it "officially." I'm just trying to pick it up and pick it out of people who do know it. I hate not knowing, and flitting around the studio as the one helpless person who has to harrass everyone else in order to accomplish anything. And furthermore, I just want to know it already. I had my first go at it last Thursday night, from 9 until 11:30 pm! It was wonderful, and I fell in love with it.
Tonight, though, nothing went right. Not even a little bit. My prints didn't come out well. The ink kept drying too fast because my lines were to fine. The gunk didn't come off the screen very well. And then the door was locked to get into a room I needed, so I had to stop after doing...nothing. Nothing but not do what I wanted. I printed off some overhead transparency, so I will be ready to go, but I have nothing good to show for what I learnt on Thursday, and nothing but a mostly clean silk-screen and a transparency or two for the next time i have the chance to try.
I wish I had studied art when I was still in university. Why didn't I? I feel so inept when i try these things out, and I want so badly to know everything about them. And mostly? Mostly I want to paint. When I was little I would always try painting. I even stole my dad's white-board eisel once and set up a little "art studio" of my own in the garage. It didn't last long, but oh how i loved it. I painted a rock once, and it was really good... but then then someone put it outside and it rained. No more painting. I wish I knew how to use brushes and colours and make those things which are so beautiful that I cry when i see them. And I wish that trying to learn them back handedly worked out a little better. But maybe it is enough for now that i am even making the attempt?
I guess I'd rather be disturbed with my life and try to grow it than be fine with my life and live it narrowly.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
General Colin Powell
I went to a conference the other day at which General Colin Powell was a keynote speaker, and I have to say, it was really exciting to hear him and see him in person. (no, I did not meet him, sadly). Honestly, I had never paid that much attention to him; I knew from magazines that he was an active leader and I was definitely aware that like most people in positions of power, was surrounded by plenty of controversy over his actions and inactions. I recall a time vaguely disliking him, but cannot remember the reason behind that leaning (perhaps just agreeing with the opinion of my friends. who can say...?)
Whatever my thoughts or lack of thoughts have been, and stating outright that I know very little about what he has actually done and not done, or whether I would like or dislike them... I really enjoyed hearing him. When he walked onto the stage, it was with such a command that you were instantly ready to listen to this person, and when he spoke, you still wanted to listen!
I think what I really apreciated was that he gave something of an answer to a question I have been pondering in my personal thoughts. If I ever want to "become someone important/powerful," what happens when that time is over? So many people talk about something being their purpose in life... and if your purpose in life is to do x job, what about when that job is finished? Should you just finish yourself off, since your life mission or purpose is completed?
There are many things I could say here on what I think about life mission and/or purpose, but that is neither here nor there. Whatever one's reason for being at the top is... the fact is, it will come to an end like all other things. Moreover, if that end comes before your death rather than as a result of it, what does that mean for you?
Gen. Powell talked about how yes, he has been a world leader and the fact is, now he is "just another ordinary person." [ordinary meant as being like others not in politically powerful positions.] And he spoke about the transition that requires, and the questioning you experience, and the fact that whether you are at the top or the bottom... you are still yourself, and your life [as being, you] is not over.
It was encouraging to hear someone like him speak of the position he was in not as the end-all-be-all/end-of-your-life-journey, but as a step along the way in continuing to be you. Furthermore, he spoke of such positions as not being ones that you seek--to paraphrase him, "A real leader does not even need to look for followers; a real leader is someone people will follow if for nothing other than curiousity." He also talked a lot about how leadership is not just about positioning yourself, if it is about that at all. Leadership is, instead, about taking care of your followers and making sure that they are in the best possible place and will continue to be so.
I don't know about his politics... but what I heard of him, and how he appeared IRL to me at the conference makes me say his lifestyle/character is one that perhaps I would not mind people following more.
Whatever my thoughts or lack of thoughts have been, and stating outright that I know very little about what he has actually done and not done, or whether I would like or dislike them... I really enjoyed hearing him. When he walked onto the stage, it was with such a command that you were instantly ready to listen to this person, and when he spoke, you still wanted to listen!
I think what I really apreciated was that he gave something of an answer to a question I have been pondering in my personal thoughts. If I ever want to "become someone important/powerful," what happens when that time is over? So many people talk about something being their purpose in life... and if your purpose in life is to do x job, what about when that job is finished? Should you just finish yourself off, since your life mission or purpose is completed?
There are many things I could say here on what I think about life mission and/or purpose, but that is neither here nor there. Whatever one's reason for being at the top is... the fact is, it will come to an end like all other things. Moreover, if that end comes before your death rather than as a result of it, what does that mean for you?
Gen. Powell talked about how yes, he has been a world leader and the fact is, now he is "just another ordinary person." [ordinary meant as being like others not in politically powerful positions.] And he spoke about the transition that requires, and the questioning you experience, and the fact that whether you are at the top or the bottom... you are still yourself, and your life [as being, you] is not over.
It was encouraging to hear someone like him speak of the position he was in not as the end-all-be-all/end-of-your-life-journey, but as a step along the way in continuing to be you. Furthermore, he spoke of such positions as not being ones that you seek--to paraphrase him, "A real leader does not even need to look for followers; a real leader is someone people will follow if for nothing other than curiousity." He also talked a lot about how leadership is not just about positioning yourself, if it is about that at all. Leadership is, instead, about taking care of your followers and making sure that they are in the best possible place and will continue to be so.
I don't know about his politics... but what I heard of him, and how he appeared IRL to me at the conference makes me say his lifestyle/character is one that perhaps I would not mind people following more.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
License to drive...
I just got back at 12:30am this morning from a roadtrip... the last leg of which involved driving up from Cape Henlopen State Park in Delaware to my home in NY--completed through torrential rain in seven hours time. Not bad.
But as I was driving up past Scranton (shout-out to The Office) and working to keep awake, I started thinking about everything my car and I have gone through together. I have now had my license for a year and a few days. That's it. I have technically owned my car for about 15 months, but I did not actually go get and drive it until a month after getting my license... So let's see... I haven't yet had my dear Goochie (name-of-my-car) for a whole year yet, really. And what have we done together?
9 States, plus Washington D.C. as well: New York, Pennyslvania, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, NJ
I actually did 8 states and D.C. in just this last road-trip... (everything but NJ this last time around). By this weekend I'll have several more states to add to that list of my car and I.
I've also been through a set of brakes, a coil, several vaccuum thingers, a hose, and a transmission. And of course, lots and lots of gas and oil. My trunk got bent in by some annonymous person or thing, and I managed to scrape my side door all by myself this last trip around (on a pillar).
I've driven in torrential rain, a terrible blizzard, lots of snow, on ice, in 100 degree weather with a lousy air-co, up mountians, down mountains, and through flat flat flat land and marshes (sticking to the roads. and don't follow the lights, Frodo...) Hmm, what else? Backroads and detours, too.
I've used Google maps ten-billion times, gotten lost only a few (usually visiting the same friend!!), and did the last road-trip entirely by the old-fashioned Atlas except Maryland--Delaware.
I've now driven in Buffalo, Rochester, Philadephia, Cleveland, Columbus, Knoxville, D.C. (mostly belt-way, thank goodness), etc and feeling much more secure than my first venture into a city (at night, with minimum other cars around) where I was so scared my passengers had to keep telling me to breathe because I was holding my breath and going to pass out!!!
So I think my license, my car, and I have come a very long ways, not just in mileage. My first time driving at night was not even a year ago, and it was an 8 hour trip--from 8pm--4am with two other friends. Last week I drove from 8:30pm--9:30am, and now I'm afraid I don't give much thought to whether i drive by night or by day. Haha.
Anyways. Now that you know my car history, look out! I know this was a perfectly random post, but what can I say? It's what I was thinking about. :)
But as I was driving up past Scranton (shout-out to The Office) and working to keep awake, I started thinking about everything my car and I have gone through together. I have now had my license for a year and a few days. That's it. I have technically owned my car for about 15 months, but I did not actually go get and drive it until a month after getting my license... So let's see... I haven't yet had my dear Goochie (name-of-my-car) for a whole year yet, really. And what have we done together?
9 States, plus Washington D.C. as well: New York, Pennyslvania, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, NJ
I actually did 8 states and D.C. in just this last road-trip... (everything but NJ this last time around). By this weekend I'll have several more states to add to that list of my car and I.
I've also been through a set of brakes, a coil, several vaccuum thingers, a hose, and a transmission. And of course, lots and lots of gas and oil. My trunk got bent in by some annonymous person or thing, and I managed to scrape my side door all by myself this last trip around (on a pillar).
I've driven in torrential rain, a terrible blizzard, lots of snow, on ice, in 100 degree weather with a lousy air-co, up mountians, down mountains, and through flat flat flat land and marshes (sticking to the roads. and don't follow the lights, Frodo...) Hmm, what else? Backroads and detours, too.
I've used Google maps ten-billion times, gotten lost only a few (usually visiting the same friend!!), and did the last road-trip entirely by the old-fashioned Atlas except Maryland--Delaware.
I've now driven in Buffalo, Rochester, Philadephia, Cleveland, Columbus, Knoxville, D.C. (mostly belt-way, thank goodness), etc and feeling much more secure than my first venture into a city (at night, with minimum other cars around) where I was so scared my passengers had to keep telling me to breathe because I was holding my breath and going to pass out!!!
So I think my license, my car, and I have come a very long ways, not just in mileage. My first time driving at night was not even a year ago, and it was an 8 hour trip--from 8pm--4am with two other friends. Last week I drove from 8:30pm--9:30am, and now I'm afraid I don't give much thought to whether i drive by night or by day. Haha.
Anyways. Now that you know my car history, look out! I know this was a perfectly random post, but what can I say? It's what I was thinking about. :)
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Decisions & Dreams
My car died yesterday, or at least, it died for all practical purposes. It has been giving me trouble for about a week, growing worse until I took it to the car doctor. Driving there I was praying the whole way not to have it die on the side of the road, and that it would be a simple, inexpensive fix.
Well, it wasn't. They took my keys, rode Goochie (my car) around, hooked her up to something, and told me my transmission was in its final moments of life--this information coming the day before I begin something of a 15 day roadtrip. wow.
I don't have money to fix my transmission. Do you know they are ridiculously expensive? (or at least, they are for those of us with small paychecks, student debt, and too many bills...) Furthermore, I don't have a credit card, because I don't want to live on credit. I have enough invisible binds on me as is; why would I want a card that would tempt me to *unwittingly* bind myself more? Now I know why I should at least have one, though. For emergencies.
So I could try buying a car. Because my roadtrip really isn't cancellable--my sister is getting married and I need to be there. That only involves applying for credit, taking out another loan, and paying all my extra money into that loan over the next four years of my life.
Frankly, the car (actually, Ford Escape) offered me was a really good deal. And maybe I am childish not to take it. But I do not want to bind myself for four years, not to mention binding myself in such a way that I would hardly be able to appreciate the fact that I had a new car. What's the point, if you can't afford to go anywhere?
And the fact is... the money spent on a new car (when I was *planning* to sell mine in a year, anyways) would be taken from my savings for a boat (which I was *planning* to buy asap). And I know that the boat is just a dream and the car is my reality, but I want that dream to come true, and I am the only way it can happen. If I don't believe in it, who will? People struggle enough with their own dreams; they don't go around making any little nobody's dream come true, especially when the nobody's aren't somebody for being such a nobody.
So someone else lent me their credit card, and I will re-pay them over the next few months, and then I will be free to continue following my dream unfettered by payments for a car i didn't want. Maybe refiguring a transmission in an old car isn't smart. I don't know. But if its the clearest way to a dream i have right now, however nonsensical the dream is, at least I still have my dream, and at least i know the value of it to me now; its worth more than a car and more than my own transportation in the meanwhile. Because I realised that I would rather be car-less for a year than give up the possibility of tomorrow.
As it is, I will only be one day behind in my roadtrip and one transmission behind in my savings. Maybe that's not too bad.
Well, it wasn't. They took my keys, rode Goochie (my car) around, hooked her up to something, and told me my transmission was in its final moments of life--this information coming the day before I begin something of a 15 day roadtrip. wow.
I don't have money to fix my transmission. Do you know they are ridiculously expensive? (or at least, they are for those of us with small paychecks, student debt, and too many bills...) Furthermore, I don't have a credit card, because I don't want to live on credit. I have enough invisible binds on me as is; why would I want a card that would tempt me to *unwittingly* bind myself more? Now I know why I should at least have one, though. For emergencies.
So I could try buying a car. Because my roadtrip really isn't cancellable--my sister is getting married and I need to be there. That only involves applying for credit, taking out another loan, and paying all my extra money into that loan over the next four years of my life.
Frankly, the car (actually, Ford Escape) offered me was a really good deal. And maybe I am childish not to take it. But I do not want to bind myself for four years, not to mention binding myself in such a way that I would hardly be able to appreciate the fact that I had a new car. What's the point, if you can't afford to go anywhere?
And the fact is... the money spent on a new car (when I was *planning* to sell mine in a year, anyways) would be taken from my savings for a boat (which I was *planning* to buy asap). And I know that the boat is just a dream and the car is my reality, but I want that dream to come true, and I am the only way it can happen. If I don't believe in it, who will? People struggle enough with their own dreams; they don't go around making any little nobody's dream come true, especially when the nobody's aren't somebody for being such a nobody.
So someone else lent me their credit card, and I will re-pay them over the next few months, and then I will be free to continue following my dream unfettered by payments for a car i didn't want. Maybe refiguring a transmission in an old car isn't smart. I don't know. But if its the clearest way to a dream i have right now, however nonsensical the dream is, at least I still have my dream, and at least i know the value of it to me now; its worth more than a car and more than my own transportation in the meanwhile. Because I realised that I would rather be car-less for a year than give up the possibility of tomorrow.
As it is, I will only be one day behind in my roadtrip and one transmission behind in my savings. Maybe that's not too bad.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
trying out watercolours
My newest attempt at painting... 12th painting ever, in watercolour, and learning on my own.
Thursday, 2 July 2009
"we are not living in the middle ages"
I am not the only voice that should be heard. From my Twitter feed, from Radio Free Europe: a Radio Farda listener response:
I do not want to be guilty of doing nothing about this.
"We are not living in the Middle Ages -- no government can suppress its people today, by humiliating them, beating them, arresting them and killing them. If any government can still get away with all this, then what is the role of the international community and what would be the difference between today and 1,500
years ago?. Now Iranians have shown the world that they don't want a bunch of evil and corrupt leaders to rule them, what more could they do, as they have no help? The world has to support them."
I do not want to be guilty of doing nothing about this.
Monday, 22 June 2009
Words
If I could dream in 10,000 words, my
tears would run as blue ink, and
I would wear the words
printed
on my sole—
let them rub away into blurry
footprints of the past.
I would not write them down, to
live my own 10 Commandements,
stricken flat the
times I fail.
Eternity should not be so hard as
words set down in stone.
(i wrote this one yesterday morning... )
tears would run as blue ink, and
I would wear the words
printed
on my sole—
let them rub away into blurry
footprints of the past.
I would not write them down, to
live my own 10 Commandements,
stricken flat the
times I fail.
Eternity should not be so hard as
words set down in stone.
(i wrote this one yesterday morning... )
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Mystery
I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities right now, by Charles Dickens... and I just had to put up a quote from it which I love.
~Book I, Chapter III, opening paragraph.
"A WONDERFUL FACT to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this."
~Book I, Chapter III, opening paragraph.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Miserable
I feel so miserable today. like those days when your feelings play catch-up to you and slam you down to the ground with the impact of their mad chase. really most unpleasant. And the funny thing is, there's so much to be happy about! We made our goal at work, which til the very last week did not seem possible, but God brought all the money in, on time for the fiscal year end. That's fantastic and wonderful!
And I have friends living with me again, which is fun... and the stress of last week is gone, and new positions are being filled at work at last, and flowers are growing, and my sister got engaged and...
and it went from a rainy day to a beautiful sunny day. but i'm miserable and my heart is in my feet and i am mentally wrapping myself up to hold myself together and to be comforted somewhat.
i hurt and grieve and its not very timely at all.
and i'm going to the dentist for the first time in what might be 5 years. yuck.
i wish there was a happy pill one could take... besides anti-depressants.
And I have friends living with me again, which is fun... and the stress of last week is gone, and new positions are being filled at work at last, and flowers are growing, and my sister got engaged and...
and it went from a rainy day to a beautiful sunny day. but i'm miserable and my heart is in my feet and i am mentally wrapping myself up to hold myself together and to be comforted somewhat.
i hurt and grieve and its not very timely at all.
and i'm going to the dentist for the first time in what might be 5 years. yuck.
i wish there was a happy pill one could take... besides anti-depressants.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Redefining Home and Time
One of my readers recently asked me to elaborate on how come Bonaire was home, and how I knew it so definitly. I'd forgotten that I never did come back and write more about it; there was just so much work waiting for me when I got back to the States, and then I got ill, etc. But he's right: I should elaborate.
I knew that going back would be hard, and certainly emotional. And knowing myself, I figured I would probably start crying about the time we spotted the island coming into view through the windows of the plane. Well, I did cry when I saw that sight... but I actually started crying as we went to board the plane in the first place. I couldn't believe we were really doing it. And then when we touched down on Bonaire, I didn't want to get off the plane, because I was just so afraid of what I'd find outside.
But then I did step outside, and the wind caught me up in a bouquette of scents: of salt, curry & spice, and of red earth and mangroves. And I heard the crashing of the waves and the baying of donkeys and saw the windows where I used to stand welcoming others back, and where I was welcomed back so many times in the past. And while there was no person waiting and waving there now, the whole island just reached out in welcome.
There were lots of changes, some that I had considered and some that I had not even thought of beforehand. I knew my favourite restaurant was demolished in a hurricane. I knew my favourite beach met that same fate. I hadn't really thought about things like seeing bilboards and signs for mobile-phones and internet services around. We really had neither before leaving the island... most all of that has come since. But while it was a change... it was natural. I think if I had found everything the same, I would have been slightly disturbed about it all. It was nice knowing, too, that my personal changes weren't the only ones that had been made, and that where the island exactly as I left it at 12 years old would no longer be able to hold me or even have a place for me... the island that it has become might.
I know that Slovakia is home to me. That is no longer a question. But it is a home that I have worked very, very hard to make and that has broken my heart time and time again in the process. Bonaire... simply is home. I don't and I didn't have to make it that way. It cannot be anything else to me. Its where I was born. Its where I played, and dreamed, and first went to school, first walked, talked, read, and wrote. Its where I first lost. It really is my past... and we carry our pasts with us, and I can see that now. I don't know where we (or I?) got the idea that the past is so separate from us--it lives inside us!
I got to see my old schools, and my house. The studio and transmitter site where my dad worked and I proudly helped him. I got to see my fellowship building, where I would ride my bike and apply band-aids to those who fell on the concrete and had vacation bible school and sunday school and got my first NIV Bible in 3rd grade and...
I got to see friends. People I knew who were still there. People who I remembered, who were like family to me, and people who I did not remember--but they remembered my family. When I went scuba diving, I became "the dutch girl who was born here and came back after 12 years." When my sister and I went for icecream on the north end of the island, we went to a shop that was owned by a man my dad used to work with, and he remembered my dad and so remembered and greeted us... and in the middle of talking about something, when he learnt I was actually even born there, he just stopped, put his hands on the counter, looked me straight in the eye and said "Welcome home."
I didn't have to do anything at all. I just had to go back and find it. And I am pretty sure now that it will always be home like that. Because if it couldn't be taken away yet, than maybe it can never. Or maybe home is just someplace that remembers you, too. Maybe that's what makes home--not just that you love and remember it, but that it loves and remembers you, somewhere and somehow. Or maybe its just shared history, that can be bloody and painful and teary, or happy and rosy and perfect--but shared, nevertheless. Same background. Same sort of stories. Shared stories. same schools and education, same first languages. same...
I found that some of the way I write is Caribbean. I cannot describe how wonderful it was to me, to learn that something I hold so precious is from there. I carry it with me in the most important and meaningful way. I'm still a part of it.
One of the biggest changes that I have noticed in myself since leaving there and coming again to the States was that it changed the way I look at time. Since I first left there, I've had such a hard time with, well, time. Two years was an eternity--i couldn't think that far, couldn't come close to commiting to something for that long. For me, 4 months was more than long enough for anything. My sister had to remind me at one point that 2 years is considered "short term missions." I always thought it was just because I was used to moving around fairly frequently, even when it was just from house to house. But now, I don't think like that... now I can actually handle the idea of 2 years, and I can see how it can be short. And i think it's because I can measure it differently now.
I was measuring time by how long since I had left bonaire. Every year I would somberly mark the date of anniversary of depature, and every year I had still not gotten back. And now I have. So instead of it being forever... and thinking i'll never get to go back, ever... Now I know I did, and I know that it took 12 years to do so, but I did it. So 12 years now is no longer this part of a vast emptiness for me; it's a completed cycle. I went back. 12 years is no longer forever. And if 12 years is no longer forever, than 2 years is not forever, either.
Maybe in a few more years, I'll go back again.
I knew that going back would be hard, and certainly emotional. And knowing myself, I figured I would probably start crying about the time we spotted the island coming into view through the windows of the plane. Well, I did cry when I saw that sight... but I actually started crying as we went to board the plane in the first place. I couldn't believe we were really doing it. And then when we touched down on Bonaire, I didn't want to get off the plane, because I was just so afraid of what I'd find outside.
But then I did step outside, and the wind caught me up in a bouquette of scents: of salt, curry & spice, and of red earth and mangroves. And I heard the crashing of the waves and the baying of donkeys and saw the windows where I used to stand welcoming others back, and where I was welcomed back so many times in the past. And while there was no person waiting and waving there now, the whole island just reached out in welcome.
There were lots of changes, some that I had considered and some that I had not even thought of beforehand. I knew my favourite restaurant was demolished in a hurricane. I knew my favourite beach met that same fate. I hadn't really thought about things like seeing bilboards and signs for mobile-phones and internet services around. We really had neither before leaving the island... most all of that has come since. But while it was a change... it was natural. I think if I had found everything the same, I would have been slightly disturbed about it all. It was nice knowing, too, that my personal changes weren't the only ones that had been made, and that where the island exactly as I left it at 12 years old would no longer be able to hold me or even have a place for me... the island that it has become might.
I know that Slovakia is home to me. That is no longer a question. But it is a home that I have worked very, very hard to make and that has broken my heart time and time again in the process. Bonaire... simply is home. I don't and I didn't have to make it that way. It cannot be anything else to me. Its where I was born. Its where I played, and dreamed, and first went to school, first walked, talked, read, and wrote. Its where I first lost. It really is my past... and we carry our pasts with us, and I can see that now. I don't know where we (or I?) got the idea that the past is so separate from us--it lives inside us!
I got to see my old schools, and my house. The studio and transmitter site where my dad worked and I proudly helped him. I got to see my fellowship building, where I would ride my bike and apply band-aids to those who fell on the concrete and had vacation bible school and sunday school and got my first NIV Bible in 3rd grade and...
I got to see friends. People I knew who were still there. People who I remembered, who were like family to me, and people who I did not remember--but they remembered my family. When I went scuba diving, I became "the dutch girl who was born here and came back after 12 years." When my sister and I went for icecream on the north end of the island, we went to a shop that was owned by a man my dad used to work with, and he remembered my dad and so remembered and greeted us... and in the middle of talking about something, when he learnt I was actually even born there, he just stopped, put his hands on the counter, looked me straight in the eye and said "Welcome home."
I didn't have to do anything at all. I just had to go back and find it. And I am pretty sure now that it will always be home like that. Because if it couldn't be taken away yet, than maybe it can never. Or maybe home is just someplace that remembers you, too. Maybe that's what makes home--not just that you love and remember it, but that it loves and remembers you, somewhere and somehow. Or maybe its just shared history, that can be bloody and painful and teary, or happy and rosy and perfect--but shared, nevertheless. Same background. Same sort of stories. Shared stories. same schools and education, same first languages. same...
I found that some of the way I write is Caribbean. I cannot describe how wonderful it was to me, to learn that something I hold so precious is from there. I carry it with me in the most important and meaningful way. I'm still a part of it.
One of the biggest changes that I have noticed in myself since leaving there and coming again to the States was that it changed the way I look at time. Since I first left there, I've had such a hard time with, well, time. Two years was an eternity--i couldn't think that far, couldn't come close to commiting to something for that long. For me, 4 months was more than long enough for anything. My sister had to remind me at one point that 2 years is considered "short term missions." I always thought it was just because I was used to moving around fairly frequently, even when it was just from house to house. But now, I don't think like that... now I can actually handle the idea of 2 years, and I can see how it can be short. And i think it's because I can measure it differently now.
I was measuring time by how long since I had left bonaire. Every year I would somberly mark the date of anniversary of depature, and every year I had still not gotten back. And now I have. So instead of it being forever... and thinking i'll never get to go back, ever... Now I know I did, and I know that it took 12 years to do so, but I did it. So 12 years now is no longer this part of a vast emptiness for me; it's a completed cycle. I went back. 12 years is no longer forever. And if 12 years is no longer forever, than 2 years is not forever, either.
Maybe in a few more years, I'll go back again.
Friday, 10 April 2009
Sometimes
Sometimes i am so angry at the unrealised cruelty of human beings and of friends. Of how we hurt one another so easily and move away so quickly. Of how little we realise the damage we inflict on those who have made themselves vulnerable to us (even without intending to) and how often when we do finally realise it, we do nothing. It's too hard, or complicated, and we don't bother.
and then our failure to reach back, to lift back up the soul we crushed... it makes me mad. becase they just have to lie there in their hurt, alone. And then the pharasees come by, and the saducees. the people who judge and look and scorn and also do not stop to help, because it's too messy. and there is not always a good samaratin, and sometimes the good samaratin is too late, and our friend has withered up and died.
i want to hurt the people who hurt, and chase down the people who walk away. i want to clobber into their thick heads some sense of what they do, and how much better they could do. how much better and greater a person they could be. because they're not bad people. they just aren't big enough, or willing to stretch far enough (because granted, it hurts and its scary and you don't know what you'll end up looking like).
and the fact is... even when the good samaratin does come, and they look after the wounds... i don't know if the wounded will never forget that pain, or who gave it to them and then walked away without coming back. and their blood is still lying on that road, and who's going to walk back and clean it up? And who would meet them there if they did?
i don't know. those who go back... i don't know how often they are met there...or how often they just go and stand in the ruin of it all and cry alone. mourn alone.
i despise people who are so caught up in their own world that they don't see the worlds of others which they contain, and ought to keep a watch-care over.
i despise the people who hurt my friends, and don't do anything about it. but i cannot walk away from them myself, or i will be the same.
and then our failure to reach back, to lift back up the soul we crushed... it makes me mad. becase they just have to lie there in their hurt, alone. And then the pharasees come by, and the saducees. the people who judge and look and scorn and also do not stop to help, because it's too messy. and there is not always a good samaratin, and sometimes the good samaratin is too late, and our friend has withered up and died.
i want to hurt the people who hurt, and chase down the people who walk away. i want to clobber into their thick heads some sense of what they do, and how much better they could do. how much better and greater a person they could be. because they're not bad people. they just aren't big enough, or willing to stretch far enough (because granted, it hurts and its scary and you don't know what you'll end up looking like).
and the fact is... even when the good samaratin does come, and they look after the wounds... i don't know if the wounded will never forget that pain, or who gave it to them and then walked away without coming back. and their blood is still lying on that road, and who's going to walk back and clean it up? And who would meet them there if they did?
i don't know. those who go back... i don't know how often they are met there...or how often they just go and stand in the ruin of it all and cry alone. mourn alone.
i despise people who are so caught up in their own world that they don't see the worlds of others which they contain, and ought to keep a watch-care over.
i despise the people who hurt my friends, and don't do anything about it. but i cannot walk away from them myself, or i will be the same.
Friday, 20 March 2009
The Southern Cross
Well, I'm back. I went home, and do you know?
It really was home.
I found that poem I mentioned a few posts earlier, that I'd been looking for. I think it's really funny; not the poem, but that it's about the Southern Cross, and wishing I could go there tomorrow. Because, well, I did.
I'd forgotten you could see it from Bonaire, and was just thinking of seeing it in Uganda when I wrote the poem... and when I did see it in Uganda, I guess that's why it seemed so familiar to me, because I did know it already. And going back was so unexpected; just a one day decision with a ticket the next day!
Anyways. I thought I'd post it here now.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
Just now a distant
Memory
Hovering over my consciousness
In silent celestial garb.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
Where once our paths
Entwined
Pulling our hearts together before
Sending us off into time.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
So deeply south,
So terribly high,
So achingly long from now.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
I’d be there tomorrow
If only I
Could.
Just now a distant
Memory
Hovering over my consciousness
In silent celestial garb.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
Where once our paths
Entwined
Pulling our hearts together before
Sending us off into time.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
So deeply south,
So terribly high,
So achingly long from now.
Meet me under the Southern Cross,
I’d be there tomorrow
If only I
Could.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Poem...
A poem I wrote Saturday afternoon, for fun. The correct formatting doesn't show up on here, but oh well.
Dutch
I counted once the
language books
hiding in my home.
Serbo-Croat chatting
with Latin I and II.
The English-French taunting
its two counterpart-textbooks
(they being only level one, and
sadly, badly beaten).
My proud Slovensko-Anglicky slovink
(squat and robust like a banker) next to
One Kyrgyz feeling small and out of place and
One kimchi-dreaming Korean.
Nine ruling Russians watch
From their balconies across my walls,
Being four more than the
Sulky English sitting next to
Three Swahili soldiers.
We won’t count the Bibles,
with their two languages more, and
We’ll overlook the zoo—
(a delightful dictionary of foreign terms).
We won’t even count my dushi Papiamento
in exile far away.
And though I missed a
couple phrasebooks, I’ll
quote the tally now:
That’s twenty-five language books
hiding in my house.
Twenty-five languages! And not
one of them the
first in which I wrote.
Dutch
I counted once the
language books
hiding in my home.
Serbo-Croat chatting
with Latin I and II.
The English-French taunting
its two counterpart-textbooks
(they being only level one, and
sadly, badly beaten).
My proud Slovensko-Anglicky slovink
(squat and robust like a banker) next to
One Kyrgyz feeling small and out of place and
One kimchi-dreaming Korean.
Nine ruling Russians watch
From their balconies across my walls,
Being four more than the
Sulky English sitting next to
Three Swahili soldiers.
We won’t count the Bibles,
with their two languages more, and
We’ll overlook the zoo—
(a delightful dictionary of foreign terms).
We won’t even count my dushi Papiamento
in exile far away.
And though I missed a
couple phrasebooks, I’ll
quote the tally now:
That’s twenty-five language books
hiding in my house.
Twenty-five languages! And not
one of them the
first in which I wrote.
Friday, 27 February 2009
Rain
I love the rain, the sound of it falling through the leaves, on the rooftops, into puddles. I love rain on a tin roof, loud and obnoxious and musical all at once. I love the way rain splatters. I love the way it cleanses; washes away.
When I can I walk in the rain. When I need to I run in the rain. When no one is looking I dance in it, and let the rain drops carry me away.
I hope it rains one day while I'm home. I want to watch it fall on the banana leaves again, and see the red dirt I was born on swell up into muddy rivets running along the street and turning my backyard into a rich mud-bath. I want to gaze at the sea before me once more when the waves are grey with tiny white caps, and the sky is but a shade lighter, and a seagull with its feathers earily glowing white swoops down over the scene. Somehow that has always been my definition for peace, even though it was in the middle of a rainstorm.
A poem I wrote several months back keeps flitting across my mind today. That happens sometimes. But I can't find it; I think I put it on a different computer or drive than I have here just now. It's the rythmm of it that has me, I think.
It has me thinking and remembering and wondering again, which I have not because it has been too tiring for some time now.
I dream every night now of being back there, of being home. And I wake crying almost every time. In seven days I'll be back there at last, and I won't have to dream again. So it makes me wonder... what will waking up be like?
Rain wash us bright again.
When I can I walk in the rain. When I need to I run in the rain. When no one is looking I dance in it, and let the rain drops carry me away.
I hope it rains one day while I'm home. I want to watch it fall on the banana leaves again, and see the red dirt I was born on swell up into muddy rivets running along the street and turning my backyard into a rich mud-bath. I want to gaze at the sea before me once more when the waves are grey with tiny white caps, and the sky is but a shade lighter, and a seagull with its feathers earily glowing white swoops down over the scene. Somehow that has always been my definition for peace, even though it was in the middle of a rainstorm.
A poem I wrote several months back keeps flitting across my mind today. That happens sometimes. But I can't find it; I think I put it on a different computer or drive than I have here just now. It's the rythmm of it that has me, I think.
It has me thinking and remembering and wondering again, which I have not because it has been too tiring for some time now.
I dream every night now of being back there, of being home. And I wake crying almost every time. In seven days I'll be back there at last, and I won't have to dream again. So it makes me wonder... what will waking up be like?
Rain wash us bright again.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Excited...
I just want to take a few minutes to say I'm so excited to be going home in 8 days!!! First time back to the Caribbean in 12 years... :)
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Windows
I have decided that windows make every bit of difference.
My office has been moved from a little room in the middle of a basement to a room at the edge of a basement... with two windows. And having the sun pour onto me and being able to watch a beautiful sunset out my window at the end of the day is just lovely.
It makes me really excited about my travels coming up: I decided instead of sticking around and not travelling, I would go somewhere... And after great debate as to the where (the debate being...visit dear Riv in Scotland, Go-Eders in Uganda, or Bee in the Middle East), I decided that what I actually needed was to go home. To my birthplace.
So in 29 days I will be back in the Caribbean, watching the sun set to a green flash on one side of the island, and the moon rise over the rough waves on the other side. And I can't wait. Still, every time now that things get overwhelming, or I am just so exhausted, or frustrated, or down, I take out the thought of where I will soon be, hold it out at arms length, dust it off, turn it around a bit in admiration, and then set it back in anticipation.
In 29 days, I'll be swimming in 80 degree, crystal clear water and walking with flamingos and eating pastechi.
It's a window into the future, and a window into a past that was locked up.
I think that's something to be excited about.
My office has been moved from a little room in the middle of a basement to a room at the edge of a basement... with two windows. And having the sun pour onto me and being able to watch a beautiful sunset out my window at the end of the day is just lovely.
It makes me really excited about my travels coming up: I decided instead of sticking around and not travelling, I would go somewhere... And after great debate as to the where (the debate being...visit dear Riv in Scotland, Go-Eders in Uganda, or Bee in the Middle East), I decided that what I actually needed was to go home. To my birthplace.
So in 29 days I will be back in the Caribbean, watching the sun set to a green flash on one side of the island, and the moon rise over the rough waves on the other side. And I can't wait. Still, every time now that things get overwhelming, or I am just so exhausted, or frustrated, or down, I take out the thought of where I will soon be, hold it out at arms length, dust it off, turn it around a bit in admiration, and then set it back in anticipation.
In 29 days, I'll be swimming in 80 degree, crystal clear water and walking with flamingos and eating pastechi.
It's a window into the future, and a window into a past that was locked up.
I think that's something to be excited about.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
Ro-cha-cha!
I just got back around midnight from a day-trip to Rochester. That was neat. The History department had a "History Day," and I found out about it from Ben, who informed me I should try to go even though I'm not a student anymore. But hey, I was a history minor, right? And since Micah decided not to go after-all, I went in his place. We went to the Memorial Art Gallery for about 3 hours... One of the paintings I really liked was by Lyonel Feininger, called Zirchow VI. I saw it and I was instantly transported back home. Sometimes I don't really get what the more abstract or random or (as this one is) cubism paintings are trying to show. But this one I knew the instant I saw it. Home. 
It was rather neat, to get to spend a day exploring art, culture here in the States. I think the last time I did this was in NYC over a year ago--also a Dr. Airhart trip. lol.
We went to a place called The Little Theatre where we ate supper at the Little Cafe (I had a sort of hummus I haven't had before--made with red peppers rather than most excellent garlic goodness) and then we chose individually between three different movies--Doubt, Milk, and The Reader. I chose the latter. It was probably among the most explicit films I have ever watched, and it was really hard and difficult, but I would still say it was good nonetheless. Definitely gives a person lots to think about, that's for sure...
We all went to Spot Coffee after that. It was funny, the memories I have of that place. Two years ago, a group of us performing A Christmas Carol came there after English Country Dancing in the city. I'm pretty sure I've not actually been there since, but whilst I was in Uganda, one of the guys I knew there was from Rochester, and we talked about Spot a good bit.
I wish I were off travelling right now somewhere. It's nice, though, to find myself wishing for the one thing I never thought to want.
But to get back to the day... it was exciting, exploring again. My car (Ben's, actually) was the first to arrive because we took 2 shortcuts I know to the city. :) That made me happy. We also beat the others home for the same reason. Again, happiness. I know; i really am that competitive.
It's neat to slowly discover these things. I discovered over Christmas break that Rochester has its own waterfalls, called High Falls or something like that. And now I've enjoyed its art gallery and theatre. And I am looking forward to going up to the museums there sometime, or to the Eastman house itself. I do have a car now, so it's nice that i could take myself there if I want.
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
The Do's and Don'ts we Do and Don't Want
I was just looking back at some things I wrote back in Nov 2006 on Facebook... and how i commented in one note that I didn't want to go to Africa, and wondered whether or no that was ok. And of course, I went and had an amazing time, even though I didn't really want to be there almost the whole way through.
And now I'm wanting to go to Africa... and it's okay. One of the reasons I didn't want to go was because I was afraid of going back. But I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of "backness" anymore, not so much, anyways. Because I don't think it means what i used to think it might--fear it might. Going "back" a) doesn't have to mean forever, b) doesn't have to be the final death, and c) doesn't always even have to mean anything at all! It can just...be.
Anyways. I also noticed something in a survey thing, where in response to the question I wrote about the two things I wanted most in the world... "mobility within stability and permanence without stagnation." I suppose I should be the happiest person in the world if getting what we want most is supposed to make us most happy... Because I'm pretty stable now, but I have mobility--generally--as I want it. And because I feel a sense--can find a sense--of permanence in my life that I have not seen in years... but I don't feel trapped, or grounded, or stuck at all. I feel like a tree that is just realising that it has roots and what they mean...but understanding that it can still grow wider and higher and make a difference right by being where it is. It's cool, to use a very inexpressive but all-expressive expression.
And now I'm wanting to go to Africa... and it's okay. One of the reasons I didn't want to go was because I was afraid of going back. But I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of "backness" anymore, not so much, anyways. Because I don't think it means what i used to think it might--fear it might. Going "back" a) doesn't have to mean forever, b) doesn't have to be the final death, and c) doesn't always even have to mean anything at all! It can just...be.
Anyways. I also noticed something in a survey thing, where in response to the question I wrote about the two things I wanted most in the world... "mobility within stability and permanence without stagnation." I suppose I should be the happiest person in the world if getting what we want most is supposed to make us most happy... Because I'm pretty stable now, but I have mobility--generally--as I want it. And because I feel a sense--can find a sense--of permanence in my life that I have not seen in years... but I don't feel trapped, or grounded, or stuck at all. I feel like a tree that is just realising that it has roots and what they mean...but understanding that it can still grow wider and higher and make a difference right by being where it is. It's cool, to use a very inexpressive but all-expressive expression.
Thursday, 8 January 2009
2009
Who would have thought it could already be 2009?
I've not been much in a blogging, journaling, writing, or otherwise wordy mood these last...months. There hasn't seemed much point, either... After all, it's not like I've been away. I've been here.
But I feel the need to comment right now that it has, in fact, now been for more than a full year I have been in only one country.
Furthermore, I have no clue when the last time was that such a phenomena has occured, but I'm pretty sure it has not been since 1995. Can you imagine that? i have not stayed in one country for a year since 14 years ago!
No wonder it's so weird!
Right now I am really missing Slovakia. Everything is changing there and continuing there and I miss being part of it all and seeing it... We're switching from Slovak krowns (national currency) to euros now. I have a lot of krown in my wallet here that I don't know how or when I'll get the chance to change over. But everyone is changing now. They say the lines in stores move ridiculously slowly, because know one (well, few) know how the coins work and everyone has to figure out the exchange.
I'm going to miss the krown a lot. It was beautiful, every bill a different colour and different size... all our national monuments and history and famous people on the bills and coins... I liked using the euro... outside of Slovakia!
I miss the opera. There's a really interesting looking one on recently of early Slovak history. It's a bonafide Slovak opera and I would almost die to see it. I miss opera in general--good opera. But "what's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Come, let's withdraw."
I will say, though, that despite the homesickness which assails me--and here I would mention that I am also homesick for the Caribbean these days, not because of the weather but just because it's been such a long time--that I do like where I am living and what I am doing. I really do. I think that living fully simply means that we will always have all things... contentedness and restlessness, joy and sorrow, love and hate, and they will always be present in our hearts at the same time. We just have to know how to handle them--and that falls under living well.
I think I write funny. When I read my posts or writings/reflections, I usually laugh at how things come out. So "flamboyant." My biology teacher always protested that I was "too flamboyant," and needed to be more factual, less elaborate, more scientific, more simple, etc etc etc. He should know, though--he did drama on the side, too.
"the theatre, the theatre. Oh how we love the theatre!"
Alright. I'm out of here for now. I've got dinner to go catch before hunger overtakes me.
Cheers!
I've not been much in a blogging, journaling, writing, or otherwise wordy mood these last...months. There hasn't seemed much point, either... After all, it's not like I've been away. I've been here.
But I feel the need to comment right now that it has, in fact, now been for more than a full year I have been in only one country.
Furthermore, I have no clue when the last time was that such a phenomena has occured, but I'm pretty sure it has not been since 1995. Can you imagine that? i have not stayed in one country for a year since 14 years ago!
No wonder it's so weird!
Right now I am really missing Slovakia. Everything is changing there and continuing there and I miss being part of it all and seeing it... We're switching from Slovak krowns (national currency) to euros now. I have a lot of krown in my wallet here that I don't know how or when I'll get the chance to change over. But everyone is changing now. They say the lines in stores move ridiculously slowly, because know one (well, few) know how the coins work and everyone has to figure out the exchange.
I'm going to miss the krown a lot. It was beautiful, every bill a different colour and different size... all our national monuments and history and famous people on the bills and coins... I liked using the euro... outside of Slovakia!
I miss the opera. There's a really interesting looking one on recently of early Slovak history. It's a bonafide Slovak opera and I would almost die to see it. I miss opera in general--good opera. But "what's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Come, let's withdraw."
I will say, though, that despite the homesickness which assails me--and here I would mention that I am also homesick for the Caribbean these days, not because of the weather but just because it's been such a long time--that I do like where I am living and what I am doing. I really do. I think that living fully simply means that we will always have all things... contentedness and restlessness, joy and sorrow, love and hate, and they will always be present in our hearts at the same time. We just have to know how to handle them--and that falls under living well.
I think I write funny. When I read my posts or writings/reflections, I usually laugh at how things come out. So "flamboyant." My biology teacher always protested that I was "too flamboyant," and needed to be more factual, less elaborate, more scientific, more simple, etc etc etc. He should know, though--he did drama on the side, too.
"the theatre, the theatre. Oh how we love the theatre!"
Alright. I'm out of here for now. I've got dinner to go catch before hunger overtakes me.
Cheers!
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