The whole situation is fucked up.
From the fecklessness of many of the actors involved in Florida to the pundits adding their two pence on how to not get shot.
Besides the inane loss of a little boy's life is the aftermath. It's terribly disheartening that this is happening in 2012.
Besides not living in a post-racial country, it's scary to me to think that people can't empathize with the deceased's family.
Perhaps someone can't truly mourn Trayvon's life if they've never loved a little black boy. Or had a father that was once a little black boy. Or been a little black boy.
I've done the first two-Had crushes and been rejected by little black boys, loved the little black boy who is my little brother, thought about my father's childhood as a little black boy. Cried at the story of him being pulled over on a 10-speed bike for having the audacity to ride in his neighborhood; prayed that my little brother would never face the same treatment; wondered about my imaginary children and pondered whether I would raise them in my birth country or somewhere more accepting of their genetic legacy. Black boys are human to me.
I can only think in the midst of my sadness, anger and disgust that if Trayvon's murderer had been able to see him as human, worthy of love and loved that he'd still be alive.
27 March 2012
16 February 2012
I'm sorry Miss Lofton...I am for real
I couldn't care less about Valentine's Day this year.
Couldn't. Care. Less.
The one person in the whole world whose call or text would have meant the world to me had already proven himself to not care by neglecting to remember my Quarter of the Century Birthday.
So I went about like it was a normal day; because it was.
I tried to think about why I should be so unlucky in romantic love (I fully acknowledge that I have an embarassament of riches when it comes to loving friends and family) and I can only think of JB Lofton.
JB.
He was one of only two black boys in our lifted Gifted and Talented class and for some reason he fancied me. He let me know this by teasing me incessantly. I didn't care at the time and was more annoyed than hurt. I was much more concerned with beating Oregon Trail and making sure I didn't forget my homework.
It was one of the many times of year when various extracurricular groups
This is the only possible reason I can think of as to why love hasn't shined down on me.
Maybe one day, I'll have the opportunity to see JB and apologise for being a little twit. Maybe in the meantime, my love life will change for the better.
Couldn't. Care. Less.
The one person in the whole world whose call or text would have meant the world to me had already proven himself to not care by neglecting to remember my Quarter of the Century Birthday.
So I went about like it was a normal day; because it was.
I tried to think about why I should be so unlucky in romantic love (I fully acknowledge that I have an embarassament of riches when it comes to loving friends and family) and I can only think of JB Lofton.
JB.
He was one of only two black boys in our lifted Gifted and Talented class and for some reason he fancied me. He let me know this by teasing me incessantly. I didn't care at the time and was more annoyed than hurt. I was much more concerned with beating Oregon Trail and making sure I didn't forget my homework.
It was one of the many times of year when various extracurricular groups
This is the only possible reason I can think of as to why love hasn't shined down on me.
Maybe one day, I'll have the opportunity to see JB and apologise for being a little twit. Maybe in the meantime, my love life will change for the better.
15 January 2012
Reflections for the New Year
I did something either very brave or very foolish at the end of December. Either way it was very honest. More on that as the month progresses.
I entered 2012 with optimism and hope and so far I haven't abandoned them. Yet.
I made a new friend. A Parisienne. I overheard her (attractive) friend speaking French and I vacillated between asking where they were from, en Francais, and not. I did. I'm glad I did, as most times I am when I've had the courage to walk up to people. We met for drinks this evening (rather, I had a cider, as a practising Muslim, my new friend doesn't drink)and got to know each other a bit. It's just as weird going on a friend date as it is going on a date for a romantic venture.
Life doesn't get less complicated as you grow older, it gets more complexed and nuanced, but perhaps more flavorful too. We'll see what the future holds, for now I have to take solace in the fact that I followed my heart...and nothing wrong ever occurs when that happens.
Right?
I entered 2012 with optimism and hope and so far I haven't abandoned them. Yet.
I made a new friend. A Parisienne. I overheard her (attractive) friend speaking French and I vacillated between asking where they were from, en Francais, and not. I did. I'm glad I did, as most times I am when I've had the courage to walk up to people. We met for drinks this evening (rather, I had a cider, as a practising Muslim, my new friend doesn't drink)and got to know each other a bit. It's just as weird going on a friend date as it is going on a date for a romantic venture.
Life doesn't get less complicated as you grow older, it gets more complexed and nuanced, but perhaps more flavorful too. We'll see what the future holds, for now I have to take solace in the fact that I followed my heart...and nothing wrong ever occurs when that happens.
Right?
10 December 2011
"Oh goodness how the time has flewn..."
Here we are, December 2011. A year from now the world will end, or so they say. But as for now, it exists.I'm in a weird place. A confidante says it's "adjustment disorder"...I think it's just freaking out about all the ch-ch-ch-ch-changes happening in my life. My unhappiness stems from a lot of sources.
06 August 2011
Foreign Language.Class.
He said he that what he found to be most attractive was that I was "well-educated". To him that meant that I speak French fairly well and no a few words and phrases in a handful of other languages. Spanish.Arabic.Hebrew.
He taught me "My name is..." in Arabic.
He taught me "My name is..." in Arabic.
stop.this.train.
i feel overwhelmed and despondent and melancholic. my role in my family is changing and i'm not sure i like it, nor do i know if i can handle this new role.
there's really no preparation for going from a child to adolescent to a young adult who tries to make their parents proud, to a young adult who tries to help her family because of the new context it finds itself in.
i wanted to go to hawaii at the end of september and know i shouldn't, because my family can use the money more. love means obligation and responsibility. one shouldn't be too swift to bandy the word about.
the tightrope between selfishness and responsibility.
there's really no preparation for going from a child to adolescent to a young adult who tries to make their parents proud, to a young adult who tries to help her family because of the new context it finds itself in.
i wanted to go to hawaii at the end of september and know i shouldn't, because my family can use the money more. love means obligation and responsibility. one shouldn't be too swift to bandy the word about.
the tightrope between selfishness and responsibility.
08 July 2011
Love Soon?
There are several songs that I feel exemplify my situation; the best one is by the sage John Mayer in Love Soon's chorus:
"You can cross the line whenever you want to
I'm calling it love soon
Close your mind and waste some time if you have to
I'm calling it love soon
It's not about you now
It's what we are..."
I've known this guy for 6 years. This is significant to me because there are a few people I've known for that long. Continuity is not one of the results of moving around often and living in 7 different states...so it goes. I met this guy when we were day camp counselors in the H. I noticed him, but forgot him until he nearly cut off my head with a frisbee in an intense round of counselor frisbee golf. Our flirtation grew that summer and when I went to school, I didn't know if we'd stay in touch.
We did.
4 years later I moved to France. Here we are 6 years removed from my near frisbee decapitation. We're in a cycle of out of state visits, embraces, and adventures. I don't know what to do or if anything should be done.
I DO however think that I'm sick of the slew of movies such as Friends with Benefits and No Strings Attached and Love and Other Drugs that portray characters, especially women, who are blase and even repulsed by being in relationships.
I don't like this whole in limbo thing. Purgatory is not my bag of tricks. I'm supposed to be a free-spirited twentysomething, but I'm realizing more and more there's something to be said for commitment, stability, et al.
Disclaimer: this post NOT brought to you by everyone and their brother getting married.
"You can cross the line whenever you want to
I'm calling it love soon
Close your mind and waste some time if you have to
I'm calling it love soon
It's not about you now
It's what we are..."
I've known this guy for 6 years. This is significant to me because there are a few people I've known for that long. Continuity is not one of the results of moving around often and living in 7 different states...so it goes. I met this guy when we were day camp counselors in the H. I noticed him, but forgot him until he nearly cut off my head with a frisbee in an intense round of counselor frisbee golf. Our flirtation grew that summer and when I went to school, I didn't know if we'd stay in touch.
We did.
4 years later I moved to France. Here we are 6 years removed from my near frisbee decapitation. We're in a cycle of out of state visits, embraces, and adventures. I don't know what to do or if anything should be done.
I DO however think that I'm sick of the slew of movies such as Friends with Benefits and No Strings Attached and Love and Other Drugs that portray characters, especially women, who are blase and even repulsed by being in relationships.
I don't like this whole in limbo thing. Purgatory is not my bag of tricks. I'm supposed to be a free-spirited twentysomething, but I'm realizing more and more there's something to be said for commitment, stability, et al.
Disclaimer: this post NOT brought to you by everyone and their brother getting married.
07 May 2011
Is this real life?
The last time I blogged was August of 2010. How is it already May 2011? Is this real life?
Since last time, I've moved to Dallas. Started working at a non-profit organization of sorts. Started establishing myself and am trying to refashion myself into an adult.
Nothing up to this point, or maybe everything up to this point has prepared me for this "adulthood"...more on that another day.
To say this has been an odd week would be an understatement.
I started off the week sharing my feelings in the most ridiculous of fashions with a long term friend. (As if I had never seen a bad romantic comedy in my life)Spent the rest of this week stressing out about that situation. Ever time my BlackBerry would light up, I thought it was him. It wasn't.
Then one day, out of the blue this individual contacted me after three years of nothingness. I shouldn't say nothingness. Three years of non-communication = several months of sporadic tears, daily prayers and finally about 2.85 years of acceptance and living. And now this.
I don't know what to do.
My mum seems to think my life is hilarious. Glad someone is laughing :)
Since last time, I've moved to Dallas. Started working at a non-profit organization of sorts. Started establishing myself and am trying to refashion myself into an adult.
Nothing up to this point, or maybe everything up to this point has prepared me for this "adulthood"...more on that another day.
To say this has been an odd week would be an understatement.
I started off the week sharing my feelings in the most ridiculous of fashions with a long term friend. (As if I had never seen a bad romantic comedy in my life)Spent the rest of this week stressing out about that situation. Ever time my BlackBerry would light up, I thought it was him. It wasn't.
Then one day, out of the blue this individual contacted me after three years of nothingness. I shouldn't say nothingness. Three years of non-communication = several months of sporadic tears, daily prayers and finally about 2.85 years of acceptance and living. And now this.
I don't know what to do.
My mum seems to think my life is hilarious. Glad someone is laughing :)
17 August 2010
Susbstitute Me-A Review
Disclaimer: I was a biased reader of this novel. I wanted to love it, and thus probably loved it even more than I would have, had I had no knowledge of Lori Tharps and Kinky Gazpacho so take the following with a grain of salt.
Substitute Me is author Lori Tharps' debut novel. She has previously co-written a book on African-American hair, which I haven't read and Kinky Gazpacho, which I read and loved.
Jose Ortega y Gasset, Spanish philosopher and essayist, wrote "yo so yoy y mi circunstancia" I am myself and my circumstances. Tharps seems to take this maxim to heart, as her circumstances naturally color and flavor her writing and world view. Multicultural themes play a huge part in her life. (Read Kinky Gazpacho, I shall not spill the beans)
One of the protagonists of Substitute Me is familiar to me. An upper middle class African-American woman with a love for elsewhere. Zora finds herself in New York City after time in France trying to find herself. Substitute Me is the story of her time nannying and all that that entails.
Our other protagonist is an ambitious,Type-A mom who is about to go back to work. While her world is unfamiliar to me, her story is just as compelling.
Two worlds collide as two women from similar backgrounds,but vastly different world views come into contact in a well-written story that will make you question what you think and know about relationships, class, race and love. Tharps writes easily and confidently about race without preaching, yet provides the opportunity for deeper discussions to occur.
Substitute Me is a great novel and I can't wait for its August 24th 2010 debut so everyone can benefit and love this story.
You can pre-order it on Amazon.com
If you decide not to pre-order, go ahead and scoop it up at your local bookstore of choice.
*Image taken from the Simon and Schuster Canadian site for the Book*
09 August 2010
Susbstitute Me-book review coming :)
One of my favourite current authors, Lori Tharps has her debut novel being released on August 24, 2010.
I will have the pleasure of receiving a copy gratis before the release date so I can read it and review it. To say I'm stoked would be an understatement.
I first fell in love with Tharps' writing with "Kinky Gazpacho"
I felt like I was reading my life, just from someone older and who was a Hispanophile compared to my love of the Francophilia. Her writing style is warm and inviting and her narrative is such a great story.
Sigh.
I can't wait to receive, read and love "Substitute Me" and who knows, even re-start my manuscript.
I will have the pleasure of receiving a copy gratis before the release date so I can read it and review it. To say I'm stoked would be an understatement.
I first fell in love with Tharps' writing with "Kinky Gazpacho"
I felt like I was reading my life, just from someone older and who was a Hispanophile compared to my love of the Francophilia. Her writing style is warm and inviting and her narrative is such a great story.
Sigh.
I can't wait to receive, read and love "Substitute Me" and who knows, even re-start my manuscript.
20 July 2010
"Losing My Cool..." A review
My summer has been filled with books. In between longing for my return to France and acclimating to the Midwest I've read several books. Only one has compelled me to write about it: "Losing My Cool: How a Father's Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture"
*Disclaimer* Image taken from www.amazon.com
For people who have struggled with the conflict between fitting in and standing out,not feeling "black enough" , or simply with who they want to be, Thomas Chatterton Williams' first book is an invitation to decide. In "Losing My Cool: How a Father's Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture", Williams shares his journey from a caricature of hip-hop culture to an individual character.
Williams' memoir is the story of a young boy, who happens to be mixed, who is constantly pulled between two poles: the love his father has for him and learning and the most negative aspects of a seductive hip-hop culture that colored and discolored his interactions with his world.
Williams' story could be that of any black kid in the suburbs who tries to "keep it real", while unknowingly being fake. He shares his evolution without casting dispersions on those still caught up in image. This empathy is what keeps his narrative from being pretentious. He also stays away from stating that hip-hop is the devil.
Because it's not.
It's the importance that people place on the hip-hop image that is detrimental to their individual growth.
I will say that perhaps the title is misleading. I don't identify hip-hop the way Williams does. To me hip-hop is Lauryn Hill, Common, Mos Def, and The Roots to name a few. I wasn't allowed to listen to Biggie and a whole host of rapper when I was younger. I can identify with Williams to a certain extent. I,too,was sometimes not "black enough" but I couldn't even fake the funk, nor did I have a desire to. My own journey to hip-hop was a weird one. Growing up we listened to soul classics and country music more than anything else. I could sing you several George Strait songs before I could ever share 16 bars of Biggie. It wasn't until I got to college that I was introduced to hip-hop in a way where I could befriend it and it wasn't until my first heartbreak when I came to love it. So I've never been caught up in the desire to implement what I saw portrayed in some videos and songs.
I've read critiques of "Losing My Cool" that seem to disagree with a premise that I don't believe Williams makes. Hip-hop is not the root of all evil. (Nor does he exhibit self-hate.) I can see how one might think he is equating hip-hop culture with the whole of black culture. Again, I don't think he is. If anything he makes a case for reconsidering black culture's relationship to hip-hop (idealising entertainers over educators)and the case for the importance of individuality. Lastly, some will take offence to some of his black characters. Some are less than ideal individuals, such is life. That was his reality.
Not to criticise young Williams, but he did himself a world of hurt by forfeiting his choice to define himself. He says, "It was much easier to mime stereotypes than to invent ourselves as individuals."
The birth of Williams as an individual is an admirable one. From his imagined hard knock sometimes gritty streets of Jersey to the posh streets of Georgetown, Williams brings up several interesting, important questions that deserve answering or at least pondering: What is the nature of individuality? What does it mean to be black? What is real? How can one embrace hip-hop without being smothered by its negative aspects? Williams didn't set out to defend black culture or castrate hip-hop culture he simply has shared one narrative of millions about his relationship with the two-which of course are not synonymous.
Williams' story comes down to this (self-evident?) fact: there's more than one way to be black. Not every young black man must be an athlete or rapper. Not every young black woman must use her physical attributes for gain. Nor should they aspire to. Centuries after slavery's abolition, we are free to be individuals, but one would think it's easier to be enslaved to something whether it be to ignorance itself or ignorant images and messages.
This book is as relevant as it is timeless. It's well written and engaging. In an age where the United States of America has a black president it's time to reconsider how we as a people and as individuals will be defined. Hip-hop is not the only music that enriches the black American experience. It is a jazz number breathed to life by Miles or Louie Armstrong. It is a blues lament sung by Ella or Bessie Smith . Or it can be a country song shared by Charlie Pride or Darius Rucker.
Read this book and decide for yourself.
By the time I was finished reading this book, I wanted to force my younger brother to read it. However, I suspect that Williams would warn against this however well-intentioned act. No one can make anyone better. It's an individual choice.
Here's to choosing to be an individual instead of a negative image of a culture.
*Disclaimer* Image taken from www.amazon.com
For people who have struggled with the conflict between fitting in and standing out,not feeling "black enough" , or simply with who they want to be, Thomas Chatterton Williams' first book is an invitation to decide. In "Losing My Cool: How a Father's Love and 15,000 Books Beat Hip-Hop Culture", Williams shares his journey from a caricature of hip-hop culture to an individual character.
Williams' memoir is the story of a young boy, who happens to be mixed, who is constantly pulled between two poles: the love his father has for him and learning and the most negative aspects of a seductive hip-hop culture that colored and discolored his interactions with his world.
Williams' story could be that of any black kid in the suburbs who tries to "keep it real", while unknowingly being fake. He shares his evolution without casting dispersions on those still caught up in image. This empathy is what keeps his narrative from being pretentious. He also stays away from stating that hip-hop is the devil.
Because it's not.
It's the importance that people place on the hip-hop image that is detrimental to their individual growth.
I will say that perhaps the title is misleading. I don't identify hip-hop the way Williams does. To me hip-hop is Lauryn Hill, Common, Mos Def, and The Roots to name a few. I wasn't allowed to listen to Biggie and a whole host of rapper when I was younger. I can identify with Williams to a certain extent. I,too,was sometimes not "black enough" but I couldn't even fake the funk, nor did I have a desire to. My own journey to hip-hop was a weird one. Growing up we listened to soul classics and country music more than anything else. I could sing you several George Strait songs before I could ever share 16 bars of Biggie. It wasn't until I got to college that I was introduced to hip-hop in a way where I could befriend it and it wasn't until my first heartbreak when I came to love it. So I've never been caught up in the desire to implement what I saw portrayed in some videos and songs.
I've read critiques of "Losing My Cool" that seem to disagree with a premise that I don't believe Williams makes. Hip-hop is not the root of all evil. (Nor does he exhibit self-hate.) I can see how one might think he is equating hip-hop culture with the whole of black culture. Again, I don't think he is. If anything he makes a case for reconsidering black culture's relationship to hip-hop (idealising entertainers over educators)and the case for the importance of individuality. Lastly, some will take offence to some of his black characters. Some are less than ideal individuals, such is life. That was his reality.
Not to criticise young Williams, but he did himself a world of hurt by forfeiting his choice to define himself. He says, "It was much easier to mime stereotypes than to invent ourselves as individuals."
The birth of Williams as an individual is an admirable one. From his imagined hard knock sometimes gritty streets of Jersey to the posh streets of Georgetown, Williams brings up several interesting, important questions that deserve answering or at least pondering: What is the nature of individuality? What does it mean to be black? What is real? How can one embrace hip-hop without being smothered by its negative aspects? Williams didn't set out to defend black culture or castrate hip-hop culture he simply has shared one narrative of millions about his relationship with the two-which of course are not synonymous.
Williams' story comes down to this (self-evident?) fact: there's more than one way to be black. Not every young black man must be an athlete or rapper. Not every young black woman must use her physical attributes for gain. Nor should they aspire to. Centuries after slavery's abolition, we are free to be individuals, but one would think it's easier to be enslaved to something whether it be to ignorance itself or ignorant images and messages.
This book is as relevant as it is timeless. It's well written and engaging. In an age where the United States of America has a black president it's time to reconsider how we as a people and as individuals will be defined. Hip-hop is not the only music that enriches the black American experience. It is a jazz number breathed to life by Miles or Louie Armstrong. It is a blues lament sung by Ella or Bessie Smith . Or it can be a country song shared by Charlie Pride or Darius Rucker.
Read this book and decide for yourself.
By the time I was finished reading this book, I wanted to force my younger brother to read it. However, I suspect that Williams would warn against this however well-intentioned act. No one can make anyone better. It's an individual choice.
Here's to choosing to be an individual instead of a negative image of a culture.
16 July 2010
Blog Your Way Around the World
I just discovered this contest and to say I'm stoked would be an understatement.
My task is to write a 400 word essay (only 400 words?!) about why "I should be selected – including how you will blog from the road should you win"
So, I have a goal in mind and a possibility.
Here it goes.
I love seeing new places and meeting new faces.
I could blame it on my parents-we moved a lot when I was younger, living in seven different states .This experience of having to adapt and learn to love where I am has stuck with me. I could blame my parents, but the truth is that , I must take responsibility for the declaration and decision at age seven that I would move to France one day.
My mother, says she remembers being surprised then, but when I left Omaha spring semester of my Junior year she remembered the declaration. When I returned to France a year later to teach English, she believed me. So my love of travel has existed for awhile. When I was in France most recently, I had the opportunity to travel a bit more throughout the European continent. I would send e-mails and blog posts back to family and friends. In February, I saw the beauty of Northern Italy. The colours of Verona's buildings mixed with the tastes of true Bolognese cuisine enticed me. I was thankful for a first taste of Italy and looked forward to April holidays when I would visit Sweden and Spain. I planned for these trips anxious to drop a few words of Swedish on my friend's family and experiment with my rudimentary Spanish.Then a volcano from a small island country struck me and thousands of other tourists-Eyjafjallajökull . I still can't pronounce its name, I can only pronounce the unquenched thirst for travel that I missed because of its eruption. I am always anxious for a new adventure -especially one that involves a new locale.
If selected, I would share the love I have for travel with the help of my faithful laptop.I would also synch a microblogging site to keep followers up on minute-by-minute updates using my smart phone. There is such a wide world out there and I've only been to six countries. I would love the chance to see and share more.
So, vote for me . Merci, Gracias,Todah Rabah and Thank you.
My task is to write a 400 word essay (only 400 words?!) about why "I should be selected – including how you will blog from the road should you win"
So, I have a goal in mind and a possibility.
Here it goes.
I love seeing new places and meeting new faces.
I could blame it on my parents-we moved a lot when I was younger, living in seven different states .This experience of having to adapt and learn to love where I am has stuck with me. I could blame my parents, but the truth is that , I must take responsibility for the declaration and decision at age seven that I would move to France one day.
My mother, says she remembers being surprised then, but when I left Omaha spring semester of my Junior year she remembered the declaration. When I returned to France a year later to teach English, she believed me. So my love of travel has existed for awhile. When I was in France most recently, I had the opportunity to travel a bit more throughout the European continent. I would send e-mails and blog posts back to family and friends. In February, I saw the beauty of Northern Italy. The colours of Verona's buildings mixed with the tastes of true Bolognese cuisine enticed me. I was thankful for a first taste of Italy and looked forward to April holidays when I would visit Sweden and Spain. I planned for these trips anxious to drop a few words of Swedish on my friend's family and experiment with my rudimentary Spanish.Then a volcano from a small island country struck me and thousands of other tourists-Eyjafjallajökull . I still can't pronounce its name, I can only pronounce the unquenched thirst for travel that I missed because of its eruption. I am always anxious for a new adventure -especially one that involves a new locale.
If selected, I would share the love I have for travel with the help of my faithful laptop.I would also synch a microblogging site to keep followers up on minute-by-minute updates using my smart phone. There is such a wide world out there and I've only been to six countries. I would love the chance to see and share more.
So, vote for me . Merci, Gracias,Todah Rabah and Thank you.
Time flies...
Wow, so it's been a minute since I've written anything.
I didn't realise it until a friend shared the last post I wrote about a beautiful person we knew who died too soon. For us.
Since then, April left the map to join the other months in the grave of days. May came and went too fast, I loved Marc, and my students and left them in turn.
June came and I adjusted and moped and made my peace with where I am. And July has started with promise,ascended to greatness and I hope it plateaus here.At least for awhile.
I've recently come back from a trip to Norman to see my friends, sisters really.
I was worried about seeing them. Worried that nine months had made a gap we couldn't or wouldn't bridge. Worried that 8 days would be too much and that I would kill, or more likely, be killed by one of my friends.
But it was lovely. And too brief as I knew in my heart of hearts it would be.
I'm going to get back into this thing. If nothing else, but to keep up with telling stories. I'm thinking of starting a section of stories called "To Sirs with Love" stories about guys I've loved. Or something like it.
Tis all for now.
I didn't realise it until a friend shared the last post I wrote about a beautiful person we knew who died too soon. For us.
Since then, April left the map to join the other months in the grave of days. May came and went too fast, I loved Marc, and my students and left them in turn.
June came and I adjusted and moped and made my peace with where I am. And July has started with promise,ascended to greatness and I hope it plateaus here.At least for awhile.
I've recently come back from a trip to Norman to see my friends, sisters really.
I was worried about seeing them. Worried that nine months had made a gap we couldn't or wouldn't bridge. Worried that 8 days would be too much and that I would kill, or more likely, be killed by one of my friends.
But it was lovely. And too brief as I knew in my heart of hearts it would be.
I'm going to get back into this thing. If nothing else, but to keep up with telling stories. I'm thinking of starting a section of stories called "To Sirs with Love" stories about guys I've loved. Or something like it.
Tis all for now.
18 April 2010
Lord, when she sung
Ashlee T. Madison the Great, Jr.
Lord ,when she sung,
It moved you.
Hips swaying, feet tapping, head moving, soul stirring movement.
When she smiled you felt thankful. Thankful that the sun had dropped a bit of its light some years ago.
When she called me beautiful, I wondered if she knew the definition, because she was one of the most beautiful women I've met. A soul that couldn't help but escape through her eyes and smile and skin. Beauty, light and love radiating.
I didn't know her well, but I got to stand in her light for a little while.
Got to see her bounce, glide or walk across campus.
Or just see her smile.
But,Lord, when she sung.
Lord ,when she sung,
It moved you.
Hips swaying, feet tapping, head moving, soul stirring movement.
When she smiled you felt thankful. Thankful that the sun had dropped a bit of its light some years ago.
When she called me beautiful, I wondered if she knew the definition, because she was one of the most beautiful women I've met. A soul that couldn't help but escape through her eyes and smile and skin. Beauty, light and love radiating.
I didn't know her well, but I got to stand in her light for a little while.
Got to see her bounce, glide or walk across campus.
Or just see her smile.
But,Lord, when she sung.
Best laid plans of Mice and Men
So, it's Sunday, 18 April.
Instead of being in Barcelona, I am in my bed in Les Sables d'Olonne. I'm annoyed,but trying to not be.
If I've learned anything from The Roots and Chinue Achebe it's that things fall apart. A force of nature/act of God as you wish although I would hope that God didn't have it in for me for wanting to go to Barcelona. I was going to be good)
This damn volcano.
Let me start with the altruistic, good Kayle part:
I'm thankful the volcanic activity didn't have any fatalities, it could have been Pompeii and that's all bad.
I'm thankful that I was able to stay with a true friend, Celine, in Paris instead of in limbo.
I'm thankful I got to see my friend Nathan from like 5 years ago.
I'm thankful for how efficient and helpful Air France was. It was really impressive. I told the lady how surprised and thankful I was because I really was.
I'm thankful that I made it back to Les Sables and that the weather is beautiful and hot so I can at least have some beach time.
The fail saga began Thursday. I woke up at 5am to catch a 5h45 train. I was ready. I bought a Swedish travel phrase book to impress Tobbe's friends and parents. I bought a backpack. You know the ones, the "I'm hiking across Europe" ones, except I was taking trains and planes.
I was stoked.
I get to Paris at 10h33 plenty of time to grab a fast fallafel at my favourite falafel place in France and head to Charles deGaulle.
Then at around 11h I received a text informing me flight was cancelled, thanks for understanding. I didn't understand. Went out to CDG to assess the situation and was reminded of the volcano that I had dismissed. I read about them evacuating parts of Iceland because of a fear of flooding,but that was the last I paid attention.
The lovely AirFrance rep booked me on a new flight which I thought was for Friday,but wasn't and I went to explore the Marais. The Marais (4 and 5th arrondisements or districts) are heavily Jewish and I love it. Each time I come to Paris, without fail, except Fridays and Saturdays for Sabbath, I go to L'as du Fallafel. It's reportedly the best falafel in Europe. A friend suggested that I try another fallafel place perhaps I should, but why?
Why try something that could be less than the best when I'm pretty sure outside of Israel this is as real as it gets? Replete with yelling, attractive, only feigning annoyance Israelis. Bon, get my falafel eat it, decide to go to the Musee de la Shoah. The Shoah museum. Not exactly uplifting,but important.
I'm glad I went. And I'm glad that France is,at least in that moment, dealing with the complicity of its leaders during that time. A post for another time.
Wandered around the Marais and eventually Celine got off from her internship. I was blessed to run into a really nice Parisienne, Jennifer, who helped me find a convenient meeting place because Chatelet, the stop, was too big. We talked about my life in France and she shared her desire to leave Paris for a variety of reasons. I empathised with her more than she knew.
The next day I tried again the whole leaving thing, but to no avail. Flight after flight was cancelled and I decided to try to find an Air France store. I walked along the Champs Elysees with a fury. I searched and searched only to walk into IranAir hoping they could help point me to an AirFrance location. I pulled a number looked around, felt uncomfortable and left.
Finally, I remembered there was a street of embassies near by. My brain remembered a Canadian flag waving from my last trip to Paris amidst the Gucci store, 5 star restaurants and beautifully expensive flats.
Never have I ever been so excited to see a Canadian. I asked the young security guard and he directed me to Les Invalides. I thanked him with probably more than a hint of desperation in my voice.
I reach Les Invalides only to find the longest line of my life. If you know me, you know I hate lines. HATE THEM.
Yet, I had no choice. I said a prayer for my sanity an waited. 20 minutes later I was talking to an Air France representative who I felt compelled to compliment. Usually I make fun of the French for being feckless, but this time I was so impressed by their work ethic I almost felt bad for years of bashing them.
I was helped by a young man who informed me that my original ticket had been rebooked for Saturday(!) and not Friday as I had thought. So I hadn't missed a new flight, I was still booked for one. However as life turns out Charles de Gaulle was closed until...now I believe so Stockholm became a no go.
Discouraged and disheartened I went back to Celine's.
The next day I went to SNCF to see if there were any trains to Barcelona.
Nada. Not a blessed one.
I tarried with the gentleman for a good 20 minutes hoping he could finagle away,but to no avail. The next trains available would arrive Wednesday when I had to be back in Paris to greet my friend Nick and his father for their trip which...
Has been postponed.
So faced with this disappointment and annoyance I am back in Les Sables d'Olonne.
I know it could be worse and it doesn't make me any happier to know that so many people are affected and some trying to get home. I'm grateful I had a friend to stay with. Grateful that I got home. Grateful that my home happens to be near the beach.
But God, how I wanted to go to Stockholm and Barcelona. Oh well, the best laid plans of Mice and Men...
Instead of being in Barcelona, I am in my bed in Les Sables d'Olonne. I'm annoyed,but trying to not be.
If I've learned anything from The Roots and Chinue Achebe it's that things fall apart. A force of nature/act of God as you wish although I would hope that God didn't have it in for me for wanting to go to Barcelona. I was going to be good)
This damn volcano.
Let me start with the altruistic, good Kayle part:
I'm thankful the volcanic activity didn't have any fatalities, it could have been Pompeii and that's all bad.
I'm thankful that I was able to stay with a true friend, Celine, in Paris instead of in limbo.
I'm thankful I got to see my friend Nathan from like 5 years ago.
I'm thankful for how efficient and helpful Air France was. It was really impressive. I told the lady how surprised and thankful I was because I really was.
I'm thankful that I made it back to Les Sables and that the weather is beautiful and hot so I can at least have some beach time.
The fail saga began Thursday. I woke up at 5am to catch a 5h45 train. I was ready. I bought a Swedish travel phrase book to impress Tobbe's friends and parents. I bought a backpack. You know the ones, the "I'm hiking across Europe" ones, except I was taking trains and planes.
I was stoked.
I get to Paris at 10h33 plenty of time to grab a fast fallafel at my favourite falafel place in France and head to Charles deGaulle.
Then at around 11h I received a text informing me flight was cancelled, thanks for understanding. I didn't understand. Went out to CDG to assess the situation and was reminded of the volcano that I had dismissed. I read about them evacuating parts of Iceland because of a fear of flooding,but that was the last I paid attention.
The lovely AirFrance rep booked me on a new flight which I thought was for Friday,but wasn't and I went to explore the Marais. The Marais (4 and 5th arrondisements or districts) are heavily Jewish and I love it. Each time I come to Paris, without fail, except Fridays and Saturdays for Sabbath, I go to L'as du Fallafel. It's reportedly the best falafel in Europe. A friend suggested that I try another fallafel place perhaps I should, but why?
Why try something that could be less than the best when I'm pretty sure outside of Israel this is as real as it gets? Replete with yelling, attractive, only feigning annoyance Israelis. Bon, get my falafel eat it, decide to go to the Musee de la Shoah. The Shoah museum. Not exactly uplifting,but important.
I'm glad I went. And I'm glad that France is,at least in that moment, dealing with the complicity of its leaders during that time. A post for another time.
Wandered around the Marais and eventually Celine got off from her internship. I was blessed to run into a really nice Parisienne, Jennifer, who helped me find a convenient meeting place because Chatelet, the stop, was too big. We talked about my life in France and she shared her desire to leave Paris for a variety of reasons. I empathised with her more than she knew.
The next day I tried again the whole leaving thing, but to no avail. Flight after flight was cancelled and I decided to try to find an Air France store. I walked along the Champs Elysees with a fury. I searched and searched only to walk into IranAir hoping they could help point me to an AirFrance location. I pulled a number looked around, felt uncomfortable and left.
Finally, I remembered there was a street of embassies near by. My brain remembered a Canadian flag waving from my last trip to Paris amidst the Gucci store, 5 star restaurants and beautifully expensive flats.
Never have I ever been so excited to see a Canadian. I asked the young security guard and he directed me to Les Invalides. I thanked him with probably more than a hint of desperation in my voice.
I reach Les Invalides only to find the longest line of my life. If you know me, you know I hate lines. HATE THEM.
Yet, I had no choice. I said a prayer for my sanity an waited. 20 minutes later I was talking to an Air France representative who I felt compelled to compliment. Usually I make fun of the French for being feckless, but this time I was so impressed by their work ethic I almost felt bad for years of bashing them.
I was helped by a young man who informed me that my original ticket had been rebooked for Saturday(!) and not Friday as I had thought. So I hadn't missed a new flight, I was still booked for one. However as life turns out Charles de Gaulle was closed until...now I believe so Stockholm became a no go.
Discouraged and disheartened I went back to Celine's.
The next day I went to SNCF to see if there were any trains to Barcelona.
Nada. Not a blessed one.
I tarried with the gentleman for a good 20 minutes hoping he could finagle away,but to no avail. The next trains available would arrive Wednesday when I had to be back in Paris to greet my friend Nick and his father for their trip which...
Has been postponed.
So faced with this disappointment and annoyance I am back in Les Sables d'Olonne.
I know it could be worse and it doesn't make me any happier to know that so many people are affected and some trying to get home. I'm grateful I had a friend to stay with. Grateful that I got home. Grateful that my home happens to be near the beach.
But God, how I wanted to go to Stockholm and Barcelona. Oh well, the best laid plans of Mice and Men...
12 April 2010
Updates
*Vacances! Je suis en vacances
I leave for Stockholm Thursday-Sunday,then Barcelona Sunday-Thursday then Paris, Normandy Beaches and then Paris back to Les Sables.Phew :) Bring it!
*Hosting Couchsurfers for the first time. Really sweet family of 3 who brought me a bottle of plum brandy(?) from their garden. Cheers!
*Went out on a date ( hate that word) with a co-worker...(Someone needs to stop me from dating Frenchmen)
*Will be home in less than 2 months
*Still looking for employment until I receive word whether I've been re-accepted for next year
I'm dancing in the midst of uncertainty. The sunlight has brought me back to 100% Kayle and dah dah dah dah dah I'm lovin' it!
I leave for Stockholm Thursday-Sunday,then Barcelona Sunday-Thursday then Paris, Normandy Beaches and then Paris back to Les Sables.Phew :) Bring it!
*Hosting Couchsurfers for the first time. Really sweet family of 3 who brought me a bottle of plum brandy(?) from their garden. Cheers!
*Went out on a date ( hate that word) with a co-worker...(Someone needs to stop me from dating Frenchmen)
*Will be home in less than 2 months
*Still looking for employment until I receive word whether I've been re-accepted for next year
I'm dancing in the midst of uncertainty. The sunlight has brought me back to 100% Kayle and dah dah dah dah dah I'm lovin' it!
26 March 2010
Wait, say what? Week
So, I LOVE my job. (if you can call it that)
I worked a total of 8 hours this week *Tuesday was a strike day and Wednesdays, I have off*
And I got to spend time with students whom I love and who stay crazy.
We'll take today for instance:
I've had a little cough for the past couple of days and had a coughing fit in class. I said (in English) I'm going to die and then translated it into French. At first the five boys in class just looked at me, then as I walked to the back of the class to cough one (who looks like a leprechaun and is as mischievous jumps up from the floor (we were watching Remember the Titans) and runs after me saying "Miss, miss, I can do CPR?" and the others yelling "Sur la bouche!" (on the mouth)
Next story.
Another faculty member comes in (who I may or may not have a crush on and who may or may not reciprocate/initiate) to hand a student a note and flashes a beautiful smile. Same kid who was trying to resuscitate me unnecessarily says in French (as if I'm deaf and not able to speak or understand French) "il la kiffe (he likes her) I try not to blush and get them to stop making me seem like I had no control (which I did)
When I was preparing to go home for the afternoon I ran into the aforementioned faculty member and have a petit conversation with him. The kids (again forgetting or not caring that I speak French) say "Ah, regardes **** il drague" (Look at.....he's trying to mack/pull /hit on whatever) To which he replies
"J'ai pas le droit?" (Don't I have the right)
Shake my head.
One last thing, one of the teachers I'd consider a friend. He tries to speak English asks about my family, friends, life etc.Cool dude, yet acts out of pocket often in a childish you need to go to time out way. Last week he made me give him bisous (kisses on the cheek)after he fixed the copy machine (by fixed I mean pushed a button) and then this week while just answering questions in English this one about ice cream flavours I respond chocolate chip cookie dough to which he says "Oh, chocolat, I can see why" while winking.
At least they keep me smiling :)
I worked a total of 8 hours this week *Tuesday was a strike day and Wednesdays, I have off*
And I got to spend time with students whom I love and who stay crazy.
We'll take today for instance:
I've had a little cough for the past couple of days and had a coughing fit in class. I said (in English) I'm going to die and then translated it into French. At first the five boys in class just looked at me, then as I walked to the back of the class to cough one (who looks like a leprechaun and is as mischievous jumps up from the floor (we were watching Remember the Titans) and runs after me saying "Miss, miss, I can do CPR?" and the others yelling "Sur la bouche!" (on the mouth)
Next story.
Another faculty member comes in (who I may or may not have a crush on and who may or may not reciprocate/initiate) to hand a student a note and flashes a beautiful smile. Same kid who was trying to resuscitate me unnecessarily says in French (as if I'm deaf and not able to speak or understand French) "il la kiffe (he likes her) I try not to blush and get them to stop making me seem like I had no control (which I did)
When I was preparing to go home for the afternoon I ran into the aforementioned faculty member and have a petit conversation with him. The kids (again forgetting or not caring that I speak French) say "Ah, regardes **** il drague" (Look at.....he's trying to mack/pull /hit on whatever) To which he replies
"J'ai pas le droit?" (Don't I have the right)
Shake my head.
One last thing, one of the teachers I'd consider a friend. He tries to speak English asks about my family, friends, life etc.Cool dude, yet acts out of pocket often in a childish you need to go to time out way. Last week he made me give him bisous (kisses on the cheek)after he fixed the copy machine (by fixed I mean pushed a button) and then this week while just answering questions in English this one about ice cream flavours I respond chocolate chip cookie dough to which he says "Oh, chocolat, I can see why" while winking.
At least they keep me smiling :)
24 March 2010
Chosen friends
*Random*
I miss having Jewish friends. One of my friends was talking on Facebook about how she's having to eat all of her chametz (refers to bread, grains and leavened products that are not consumed on the Jewish holiday of Passover)It's almost Passover and ever since I was a wee little lass, I used to read the Passover story and then a few weeks later (usually)it would be time for Easter. It was a pleasant holiday season. I think I especially connect with Passover not only because of the religious narrative, but the historical narrative of Americans descended from enslaved Africans.
When I was like 11, probably, my mum bought me this great book "This is the Matzah that Papa brought Home" because I really wanted it. It's a great book and a lot of fun. However, I never got to experience a true Passover seder until last year with my good friend Misheala. It was such a beautiful experience and I felt right at home and also thankful she chose to share her family and this special holiday with me and some of her other friends. This year I'll probably just say a prayer and read the story.
I also got to thinking about this because wherever I settle eventually I will need a diverse group of cohorts at the ready. I like being able to participate in different religious and cultural events as it makes a part of my soul feel more alive.
Here's a link to a YouTube video explaining some of the symbols of Passover. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awl1KCo_oZ0&feature=related
I miss having Jewish friends. One of my friends was talking on Facebook about how she's having to eat all of her chametz (refers to bread, grains and leavened products that are not consumed on the Jewish holiday of Passover)It's almost Passover and ever since I was a wee little lass, I used to read the Passover story and then a few weeks later (usually)it would be time for Easter. It was a pleasant holiday season. I think I especially connect with Passover not only because of the religious narrative, but the historical narrative of Americans descended from enslaved Africans.
When I was like 11, probably, my mum bought me this great book "This is the Matzah that Papa brought Home" because I really wanted it. It's a great book and a lot of fun. However, I never got to experience a true Passover seder until last year with my good friend Misheala. It was such a beautiful experience and I felt right at home and also thankful she chose to share her family and this special holiday with me and some of her other friends. This year I'll probably just say a prayer and read the story.
I also got to thinking about this because wherever I settle eventually I will need a diverse group of cohorts at the ready. I like being able to participate in different religious and cultural events as it makes a part of my soul feel more alive.
Here's a link to a YouTube video explaining some of the symbols of Passover. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awl1KCo_oZ0&feature=related
14 March 2010
Member of the Tribe
So, seeing as I work a grand total of 12 hours a week(Are you mad?)I have a lot of time for thinking.
One of the thoughts that have been jostling for space in my noggin is the whole twentysomething thing. I'm year 3 of my twenties and feel as silly as ever. Interests in many subjects,little to no direction, a diploma and a smile. Not bad, but not exactly helpful.I've noticed that my friends not in random international locales, or those not shuttling back and forth across the ocean ,are working jobs like REAL adults. Their Facebook statuses, tweets, etc. reflect adult things like regular working hours, boredom at times, but also a sense of adulthood and belonging in an adult definition. Now maybe this is just me projecting on them, but I think it's definitely easier to feel like a real adult when you have a 9 to 5 schedule that's serious than a 12 hour work week that's subject to less hours.
I'm not complaining. I'm enjoying the experience, but I wonder if I'm being left behind in the development game. Like the members of my tribe are doing what they're supposed to, and I'm one of the random members who's like "Nah, I'm tired of roaming what if I stick this seed in the mud?"...or something like that.
Originally I was going to write about all my age comrades getting pets, specifically dogs. Is this what we do? Get dogs? If I was in a stable relationship with a territory (city, state, heck, continent) I might like a puppy companion- a friend and guide through this maze called young adulthood. But it wouldn't be fair to either of us, with me being unsure of where I will call home.
With changing societal norms is getting a dog the new sign of adulthood?
Am I overthinking this? Probably.
haha, I should go to sleep.
After this glass of vin.
One of the thoughts that have been jostling for space in my noggin is the whole twentysomething thing. I'm year 3 of my twenties and feel as silly as ever. Interests in many subjects,little to no direction, a diploma and a smile. Not bad, but not exactly helpful.I've noticed that my friends not in random international locales, or those not shuttling back and forth across the ocean ,are working jobs like REAL adults. Their Facebook statuses, tweets, etc. reflect adult things like regular working hours, boredom at times, but also a sense of adulthood and belonging in an adult definition. Now maybe this is just me projecting on them, but I think it's definitely easier to feel like a real adult when you have a 9 to 5 schedule that's serious than a 12 hour work week that's subject to less hours.
I'm not complaining. I'm enjoying the experience, but I wonder if I'm being left behind in the development game. Like the members of my tribe are doing what they're supposed to, and I'm one of the random members who's like "Nah, I'm tired of roaming what if I stick this seed in the mud?"...or something like that.
Originally I was going to write about all my age comrades getting pets, specifically dogs. Is this what we do? Get dogs? If I was in a stable relationship with a territory (city, state, heck, continent) I might like a puppy companion- a friend and guide through this maze called young adulthood. But it wouldn't be fair to either of us, with me being unsure of where I will call home.
With changing societal norms is getting a dog the new sign of adulthood?
Am I overthinking this? Probably.
haha, I should go to sleep.
After this glass of vin.
10 March 2010
Un Petit Update
So, I never did blog about Italy and how amazing it was and how I fell in love with the sights, smells and sounds of it. But I did.
In this never ending winter *cue Kanye* I'm brought back to the colours of the buildings in Verona, of Bologna's reddish tint, of Firenze's beauty despite the tempest and even of Milano's gloomy charm.
I think I'm unhappy because I don't know what's next and that bothers me. I'm a Type B chick for the most part of my life, but let me feel helpless or unsure and I turn Type A in a New York minute,wanting to make lists and plans and stress.
I started thinking about things that would make me happy. I started with applying for jobs. This makes me an actor in my life and not an audience member, and I have to have that. If I'm honest, and I have no reason not to be, I'm afraid that I am inadequate. That my degree,while enjoyable and edifying, will be of little practical use. The only way for me to combat this fear is to apply for anything and everything that might be in line with what I know how to do-write and think. Haha. I'm also fearful of disappointing my parents. Here they sent me to University, have supported me in this crazy love affair with France and now what? I'm 23 years old and about to move back home for the summer. There's so shame in that,but I need and want more. I know whatever I end up doing my parents will say their proud of me, but I want to do something awesome so that I know they'll be proud.At the same time, I haven't a clue where I want to be. Location is my biggest problem.I envy these guys I know who are working on a farm in the middle of Sicily. I envy my friend ,Chris,who is preparing to go back to China because he's afraid of being stuck in London forever.
If I was as brave and ballsy as these guys, you know what I would do?
I would move to Israel for awhile and see what I can get in to. Be that working on a kibbutz, teaching or whatever.
I'm afraid though that if I keep being light and untethered that I will lose out on the beautiful possibilities that can come from stability, dedication and commitment. I vacillate between feeling too young to seriously worry about all this, to realising that I'm getting older and eventually my parents calling me Carmen SanDiego may not be a compliment.
In this never ending winter *cue Kanye* I'm brought back to the colours of the buildings in Verona, of Bologna's reddish tint, of Firenze's beauty despite the tempest and even of Milano's gloomy charm.
I think I'm unhappy because I don't know what's next and that bothers me. I'm a Type B chick for the most part of my life, but let me feel helpless or unsure and I turn Type A in a New York minute,wanting to make lists and plans and stress.
I started thinking about things that would make me happy. I started with applying for jobs. This makes me an actor in my life and not an audience member, and I have to have that. If I'm honest, and I have no reason not to be, I'm afraid that I am inadequate. That my degree,while enjoyable and edifying, will be of little practical use. The only way for me to combat this fear is to apply for anything and everything that might be in line with what I know how to do-write and think. Haha. I'm also fearful of disappointing my parents. Here they sent me to University, have supported me in this crazy love affair with France and now what? I'm 23 years old and about to move back home for the summer. There's so shame in that,but I need and want more. I know whatever I end up doing my parents will say their proud of me, but I want to do something awesome so that I know they'll be proud.At the same time, I haven't a clue where I want to be. Location is my biggest problem.I envy these guys I know who are working on a farm in the middle of Sicily. I envy my friend ,Chris,who is preparing to go back to China because he's afraid of being stuck in London forever.
If I was as brave and ballsy as these guys, you know what I would do?
I would move to Israel for awhile and see what I can get in to. Be that working on a kibbutz, teaching or whatever.
I'm afraid though that if I keep being light and untethered that I will lose out on the beautiful possibilities that can come from stability, dedication and commitment. I vacillate between feeling too young to seriously worry about all this, to realising that I'm getting older and eventually my parents calling me Carmen SanDiego may not be a compliment.
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