meh...

Do you ever wonder if anyone else ignores the cat poop in the bathroom because you somehow convince yourself that if you pretend it's not there, it will magically disappear?
Does anyone ever feel like there are not enough hours in the day to clean this cat poop so you, instead, proceed sit in front of your computer, doing mindless things for 4 hours?
Do you wonder if anyone else approaches practically everything in life this way:
Bills, homework, the trash, calling your mom.

Do you ever wonder if other people are hypochondriacs too?
What they do when they start feeling brain fog
Or how in the world they get themselves to start doing work when their head is pounding and they're stressed?
Does anyone else get overwhelmed about 3 months into doing any type of work, feeling like they can start things very well, wow everyone at an interview and give great first impressions and then slowly begin to wither and let people down---
Oh, and letting people down. Is there anyone else who's consistently under the impression that everyone's mad at you, frustrated with you and deems you generally incompetent to then let an overwhelming sense of defeat paralyze you, making this cycle a self-fulfilling prophesy?

I'm such a mess.

But I've realized that all it takes to get that spotless bathroom you've always wanted is precisely to clean things when they happen so that in a week you won't be running away from it even faster when it gets even more gross.
And to get that spotless credit report you never thought possible means paying the bill right when you remember to and not putting it off.
And to write that paper you're so overwhelmed by means that you need to start it now, just look at it, start reading, do something about it because the overwhelming stress will not magically disappear, nor will the cat poop, nor will the bills that are due. Just do it.

Reflections on travel

I was looking through my pictures today of Croatia and Budapest--beautiful pictures. One of my favorites is of Gornji Grad, where I had lots of time to reflect, meditate, pray, and make meaningful observations and connections. The intricate iron gates, the dim lit candles next to the cobble stone road, the many passers-by from all of the world. Many friends later told me, "I'm so jealous you got to travel to Eastern Europe."
But, the truth is, that while I spent many beautiful moments and meaningful moments in Eastern Europe this summer, I also spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to actually make my time there meaningful--arguably, more time trying to figure out how to make it meaningful than actually partaking in meaningful activities. I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of why exactly I was in a foreign city with little connection to the culture. The truth is that the words "Eastern Europe" and "cathedrals" sound cooler than the actual act of being there; that the whole time I was there I was thinking about how I could find meaning in a place I had little understanding of, I spent many nights missing family, many days doing nothing, many Saturdays waking up at 11am, aimlessly traveling on the tram, searching for things to do on a tight budget and mustering up the guts to talk to people I would probably never see again. Although the experience seemed way cool, a lot of the "coolness" of it came after-wards, when I was home in Boston, away from Ilica street and away from Novi Zagreb, when I was able to make sense of how pushing myself in this way had made a difference--how it had left a tiny mark on my journey. My travel this summer was a seed and I am only now seeing some of it's fruit. I imagine I won't fully reap the "coolness" of this experience until I am able to compare it to future travel and future experiences.

Homogeneity makes me uncomfortable

So I'm living in the North Shore and kinda...
loving it. And not "loving it" like the honeymoon stage everyone undergoes when they're in a new situation. Not "loving it" like two week Gordon College trips to Guatemala, where exposure to Mayan weaving, art craft, the view of lake Atitlan and those cute little brown children makes students start feeling like they want an identity change; saying things rooted in transcendent feeling, "I know I'm white, but I'm Latino at heart"---Or what would be in my case: "I know I'm Latina, but I'm White at heart." Not "loving it" like I'm overjoyed and don't know what to do with myself--like when I watch "So You Think You Can Dance" and feel like my soul wants to crawl out of my body.
I'm loving it like....rest. Like sleep at the end of a hard day. Natural. Like your favorite sweater--that you may or may not get tired of in a couple of months when you go to Forever 21 and see something better.

But, I must admit, the homogeneity of the North Shore makes me feel uncomfortable. The sight of it arouses my senses. I'm aware of it--when I see too much sameness for too long a period. I work in Gloucester and I love learning about the fishermen and clamming and sea shanties and cool little local shops, but I keep thinking, "Where are the Black people?" And not just the color skin... I miss the Shante's and Shaniquas and Lonell's, to be honest. I miss trips into Dorchester on bus 23 to interrupt my "up-ity" morning in a cafe near Copley Square. I miss the realness, the rawness of it.

I miss seeing different colors, different ways of speaking. Boston accents in the North Shore make me long for some ebonics. Gloucester homes by the sea make me long for barbeque's and blasting salsa music outside. Pleasant Street Tea Company makes me long for the Harvard professors at 1369 sitting next to the homeless guy who just learned to read six months ago--I guess it must be more like a year ago by now. Difference sitting together is my culture, so much so, that homogeneity will take some getting used to.

And I guess it's not fair to say that the North Shore is entirely homogenous. In other ways, it is incredibly diverse, different and dynamic. I guess, I just have to adjust my eyes a little better and learn to see diversity in different ways. It is, however, fair to say (I think) that it's easier to see and experience sameness here than it is in Boston. And the fact that I can so easily blend into this picture also makes me uncomfortable.

Tonight

Part A:

I felt...normal. Curvy women in flowy dresses. Yes. Curves. Undulating waves, beginning at the top, closing in the middle and exploding at the bottom. Extra stands proudly. It is the subject. It is the initiator. It is the norm tonight.
Huge circular wooden earings. And colors. Yes-colors. Curly hair let loose. Africa. In my hips.

Shame. At the North Shore. Next to skinny frames. Where curves are on the fringes? Or my perception is skewed?

But I'm normal tonight. With certainty. Unquestioned. Looking like you, beautiful you. And basking in an air of wordless affirmation.

Part B:

Spanish. I'm overly excited. Hearing tongues utter erres, saying "vale" and "disque." A collage, really. A collage of Latin American accents, helping me travel to Venezuela and Spain in the course of a phrase. And these erres and eses and a e i o u pronounced ah eh ee...takes me to contemporary Latin America, providing me with updates. "What happened since I left?"
Answer: erres, eses y a e i o u. Spanish sounds.

Part C:

Excitement. They're loud. We're loud. And overly excited. Our faces transform. The volume in their voice increases, repeating the same thing: "Que increíble. Que bello." As if I didn't hear them the first time--As if everybody didn't hear them the first time. But you can tell words are insufficient and cannot adequately convey nostalgia and pride and feeling home, and heck....just feeling good and impressed about a good performance. And he was a Dominican performer--so of course it was extra special.

Tucki tac-túk-tac Tucki tac-túk-tac

Sitting next to my mom at a unique concert tonight was a special occurence. I don't think she knows how much I value where we come from--where she comes from; how much I value her heritage that she's passed down to me. But seeing her face tonight, I could tell she was being taken far beyond 136 Mass Ave. into dance halls of the 1960s in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic.
What a beautiful memory to have... Cheerfully walking in groups to the town dance; girls patiently waiting for young gentlemen--or not-so-gentle-men to ask them to dance. Tucki tac-túk-tac--Tucki-tac-túk-tac, the congas she knew sang to her. These congas are not your wanna-be Latin music-immitations on American radio stations. These congas were accompanied by guiros and accordians. This was classic merengue, played to the sound of seashores and not-so-distant memories of a struggle for freedom from "El Jefe." Mami lived in the Time of the Butterflies, next to the Boulevard.
She was probably taken back to the alto of her house, where her windows flew open and closed by the wind of the near-by sea---a place I've had the opportunity and privilege to witness.
When the young 20-year old Dominican led that orchestra in a classic merengue tune, and sang about salchicón and café con leche, we all joined him together in Santo Domingo, remembering Juán Luis Guerra's "Niagara En Bicicleta" and those Dominican commercials about Induveca salami.
Mami was the expert tonight in Nueva York. Cambridge Housing Authority and all of those who offer subsidized services to her lost their power between 8:15 and 10:00pm tonight. Mami knows best when it comes to home.

Mornings in Boston

I miss the early morning rush of men and women in suits, flooding the red line with their New York Times papers and briefcases. Determined. "And how is this different from the North Shore?" you might ask. Well, there's something cosmopolitan about mornings in Boston--something worldly about it...Like we're part of something larger than ourselves. Mornings in Boston make me a feel like a world citizen. Newspapers make me feel like the entire globe is united for those first couple of hours. I imagine that our thoughts are one at 9:00am as all three hundred and fifty of us on the red line think about our lattes, affairs in Iran, laundry, and then find our thoughts interrupted by the beautiful Boston skyline as the train approaches Charles MGH. Focused eyes all turn to the window and glare: The sun highlighting the river on a backdrop of skyscrapers, brownstones and that Citgo sign that has faithfully provided every Bostonian comfort for the past 22 + years. Familiar. The cityscape is dotted with runners from MIT, college students preoccuppied with jobs and exams in the fall. Movement. Workforce solidarity. Whatever feelings the night before elicited in us, subdued by the Harvard bridge at a distance. You feel purposeful at 9am, causing you to want to read, run and work. Causing you to feel connected to that person trying very hard not to smother your personal bubble before riding past Downtown Crossing. And the solidarity with he who gets off at the same stop as you--every day.

Cathedrals and holy places in Zagreb

I don't know if it's just me, but I see cathedrals, churches and holy places everywhere I go in Zagreb--some have been preserved from the stamps of youth culture and others not so much.... Regardless of whether these holy sites are covered in graffiti or not, they remain beautiful and, at the very least, meaningful.
Below, you will see pictures of Gornji Grad, Zagreb's upper town--the old town. The cobblestone road that leads up to the old town and the baroque structures, juxtaposed with cafe's, graffiti and galleries symbolize a meeting place of the new, the old, and everything in between.
The pictures of the ornate cathedral is the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The twin peaks of the Cathedral hover over Zagreb, and you can see them from miles away, behind the huge bright blue billboard in the middle of Trg Bana Jospia Jelacica--the main square. I hear that this Cathedral has been through hell and back: an earlier version of the Cathedral was destroyed in 1242 by an invasion and an earthquake caused some major damage in 1880. You get the feeling that this place has been carefully preserved...
You will also see pictures of Kamenita Vrata and the Chapel of God's Mother, which is revered as a holy ground for many visitors. Why? Rumor has it that the painting of the Virgin Mary that you'll see in the pictures survived a fire.
Needless to say, being from a protestant/evangelical background and playing with anglicanism and eastern orthodoxy, I had many thoughts and, thankfully, lots of time for reflection today... about history, church bureaucracy, spirituality, encounters with the divine, diversity of perspective and where people find their hope.
You will also see pictures of St. Mark's church here. Enjoy!

Oh, and the first picture is on Franko Panska--funny to find a Mexican restaurant--with the most stereotypical name-- in Zagreb.

Sight Seeing Part III

Sight Seeing Part II

Sight Seeing in Zagreb

Here's to my friend, Job, Part II

Suitcases rush past,
And fingers type quickly
job searches are gifted
with business casual uniforms so swiftly

And your slow walk
interrupts the rushed day
And your tears make everyone uncomfortable today
and the fact that we lay
in ashes that we pray
in the middle of the business day--no production
Interrupts

Your pain
interrupts
their day

Your quivering hands and lips
interrupts their
constructs
of how sane
they think they are
so that you become "other"
and they became scared
by their illusion
and surprised by
crisis,
unaware

And you,
calm
when crisis strikes
because crisis is the norm
and you learn to pace your fears through the ever-present storm
while former experts at life panic
you remain calm in the crisis,
--expert
while everyone is manic

Here's to Job

Your needy.
And have lost all of your friends as a result.
You're shaky and no one wants to be around,
you.
Because it's awkward and it makes them look bad
and they just don't know what to do
with someone so sad
or...
weird.
With words reminiscent of middle school exclusion they describe you
weird.
uncool.
And we're adults now...
Supposedly.

Your face is markedly,
depressed.
But your soul is obviously,
underfed.
Or...not so obviously...
to your "friends"?

So I sit with you,
with ashes on my head
and there we lay
with discipline.
Not because I'm saintly
Not because I'm holy,
but precisely
because I identify with how lonely
one gets
when one's soul is underfed

And we connect
at this one spot,
with all else qualifying as "extra"
our brokenness is where friendship begins
And funny, my brokenness, is where relationship
with Jesus lives

Practicing my finitude is liberating

I set three alarms for 6am almost every night in 15 minute intervals since my freshman year of college. My freshman year: Completely successful, but it's been downhill from there on after. For the last five years, I've managed to wake up to the second of these three alarms maybe 10 times, and I'm starting to believe that it has nothing to do with my will power, and everything to do with the fact that I just can't. That, contrary to the American dream mentality, sometimes we can't just do anything [we dream of] if we would only put our minds to it; that sometimes, we actually can't fly, and that most always, we are far from omnipotence (with the possible exceptions of Martin Luther King Jr., Ghandi and my two friends who both share a type A personality in common).
That, too often, we put our minds to doing thousands of tasks, because we were told we could do anything. That, too often, we live in guilt because we spent an hour or two of our day lying around. That, too often, we spend our lives wanting--wanting to be like my friend who's a type A--wanting to backpack through Europe by ourselves even though we, unlike our introverted friends, know that we need to have a community around us. That even though we know that not everyone is the same, we don't actually know it, and spend our lives wanting to live up to the same homogenizing standard that we were informed about when we were 5.
What if all I was meant to do in this life is write poetry, love people in my life, actually receive the love others are trying to give me [without trying to be self sufficient for once], and to be a good steward of the things I already have? What if this means filling my day with coffee dates, listening, writing letters and being thankful for my job just so that I don't go hungry and have to live in a cardboard box? What if, ultimately, the lesson I was meant to learn is that I am not a god, and the salvation of the world does not come from my productivity or my efficiency? What if it--changing the world-- actually doesn't come from me, and that life, is actually about more than flying?

Regina Spektor

"http://www.theworldforgot.com/twf/mp3/Regina%20Spektor%20-%20Laugh%20With.mp3

LAUGHING WITH

no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they're starving or freezing or so very poor

no one laughs at god when the doctor calls
after some routine tests
no one's laughing at god when it's gotten real late
and their kid's not back from the party yet

no one laughs at god when their airplane
starts to uncontrolablly shake
no one's laughing at god when they see the one that they love
hand in hand with someone else
and they hope that they're mistaken

no one laughs at god when the cops knock on their door
and they say we've got some bad news sir
no one's laughing at god when there's a famine or fire or flood

but god can be funny
at a cocktail party when listening to a good god themed joke
or when the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head you think they're about to choke
god can be funny
when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
when presented like a genie
who does magic like houdini
or grants wishes like jiminy cricket and santa claus
god can be so hilarious haha
haha

no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they've lost all they got
and they don't know what for

no one laughs at god on the day they realize
the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
no one's laughing at god when they're saying their goodbyes

but god can be funny
at a cocktail party when listening to a good god themed joke
or when the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head you think they're about to choke
god can be funny
when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
when presented like a genie
who does magic like houdini
or grants wishes like jiminy cricket and santa claus
god can be so hilarious

no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god in a hopital
no one's laughing at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they're starving or freezing or so very poor

no one's laughing at god
no one's laughing at god
no one's laughing at god
we're all laughing with god

A Hungarian Rapper in a "Wife-Beater" and an Accordion

Budapest. Global backpacker destination.

I walk out of the train in Budapest after a 7 hour trip from Zagreb, and I am welcomed by what seems like thousands of guys in dreds, cargo shorts and birkenstocks. White American 20-somethings, perfectly matching every characteristic found in "Stuff White People Like;" with great hatred for their own country oozing out of their oriental scarves and nose rings.
And they leave their mark in Budapest, as evidenced by the tea-shops, organic and whole food stores and the alternative cafe's. Yet, don't be fooled. This is Budapest. It's edgy with a personality as large as the city itself.
Some of the funkiest hairstyles I've ever witnessed (I'm thinking of the rainbow colored dreds I saw in particular), some of the largest attitudes and so much diversity! I met a British Malaysian tour guide (of Budapest) with the thickest British accent--almost un-inetelligible to my American ears-- an Irish jewelry and ceramics student, who was studying in Hungary, a Finnish girl, a student from New Jersey and two French guys all in the same night. I should also note that I discovered that while I find the f word extremely uncouth, for some reason, coming from the mouth of a British Malaysian, I found the thousands of cuss words he uttered kind of hilarious. There was something formal about it....
After watching the gypsy festival together, we headed over to a club. Coolest thing ever! Court yards all over Budapest are being turned into clubs and pubs. So we walk in, there's this synthetic looking plant in the room highlighted by pink lighting. People are sitting in Middle Eastern style seats---real low. We chatted about our lives, our studies and our travels to the soundtrack of what sounds like French music played to an arabic beat . And there we have it: an upside-down room! A small sofa, a lamp and a small table on the ceiling. Next room, a large blue zipper playing the role of the room's spine, as it covered the back wall and curved up to the ceiling. Every room had a theme--newspaper filled bathroom with black and white pictures, the dentist room-- all of them filled with young hipsters, travelers, backpackers and locals--people from all over the world talking.
Then, the main attraction: We go downstairs to the basement--all in stone. And lo and behold, on the stage we have a thin-oriental looking man with baggy jean-shorts and a wife beater, smoking a cigarette while playing the accordion. Can you say bad ass? The main singer, a large middle eastern looking woman dressed in conservative clothing--a long skirt and an oatmeal colored sweater (Imagine people grinding to this woman's song!). A DJ in the background was re-mixing all of this sound with his mac. My first impression: How the hell do you dance to this? According to the French guy, it involved spinning me so much that the necklace I bought in Sarajevo flung off of me, the contents of which landed all over the dance floor. BOO! I loved that necklace!
Towards the end of the night, I had a cigarette burn on my stockings (as a result of the guy in front of me who didn't care to apologize), a broken necklace, a few lost items, and a taste of Budapest.

Treba dobar tus!

R&B meets Fat Joe meets Latin America in Croatia


So after two and a half weeks of fun, people were beginning to worry. Is she not home sick? Atleast a little bit? Well today, after a sketchy experience at an "alternative" night club in Croatia, I slept all day, pretty much, and woke up....homesick. Being the dramatic person that I am, I was so homesick that I was considering the possibility of buying my ticket home early and working it out with my department. However, good thing I was homesick! Because I learned some valuable lessons about homesickness that I'd like to pass on. Here's the equation:

Homesick-enjoying yourself= leaving the house
In other words, the difference between homesickness and enjoying yourself is DON'T STAY COOKED UP IN YOUR APARTMENT!

The night started off anxiously. I went to Boban (a restaurant/cafe I highly recommend if you're ever in Zagreb) and read, ate my chicken penne--reluctantly. When I was tired of Volf, the war, exclusion and embrace, I journaled about how I felt, realized that was only making me sink deeper into myself...so I journaled about things I was learning, seeing, observing, laughing about...And finally remembering, that today was the only day here that I felt this way, as Zagreb had caused me much laughter, fun and learning. But I was still not cured. I believe the music playing at Boban was even evidence of the fact that Zagreb was trying to hard to cheer me up, as they played three consecutive Alicia Keys songs and some 90's R&B throwbacks--which if anyone knows how to cheer me up, they know to play R&B throw backs. But even that, was not working. I was alone in a foreign city in Eastern Europe.
So I sit in the square, and of course [since all of those who know me know that I have a sign on my head inviting sketchy personas to talk to me and pursue me] a man approaches me and says, "you look like a woman with a strong character," I laugh. Yes, indeed. How can you tell? I ask. And I can go on and on about the conversation we proceeded to have, the coffee shop we went to and the jazz club he tried to accompany me to that we never found....but that is not the most interesting part of the night. As I am trying to get away from him by walking quickly to the station, I receive an incentive to walk even faster. I hear: "Lean back! Lean back!" There it is again. Zagreb is making me feel welcome.
I proceed to the crowd of people surrounding the performance. It's 10 dancers dressed in "wife beaters" and baggy jeans dancing to American hip hop and American club music. I laugh to myself. I couldn't figure out whether the guys dancing were flamboyant or whether this was just standard choreography in Croatia.
But just as I was walking away and about to take the tram home, I hear salsa.
WAIT!
There are people dancing salsa in the main square in Zagreb in front of Trg Ban Jelacic! Ok Zagreb loves me and wants me to feel like I'm home. So I had to check it out. I laugh to myself and then find my feet moving towards the dancers. I ask them where I can dance salsa and I receive the most friendly responses ever, meet a half Sudanese/half Croatian [fine] man, and before I know it I'm headed to their salsa dancing head quarters to witness some of the most elegant dancing I've ever seen.
Picture this: DLG's Quimbara Quimbara is playing, followed by Marc Anthony's Valio La Pena [which, by the way, is my favorite song] and Croatians--who have no idea what the songs are saying or what they mean--are doing some bad ass 3-step New York and Cuban salsa dancing.
Needless to say, I had the time of my life, will be taking salsa lessons from Robi, the salsa teacher this week, and am learning Croatian words with him and his crew of young people and older people--an inter-generational crowd, as I teach them Spanish words. I was invited to this salsa festival on the coast where people from Cuba, Spain and Croatia will be having a dance off, and I was asked to come and monitor the salsa students who will be learning bachata tomorrow.
Jesus heard my prayer today. I told Him, thank you for the opportunity to know how finite I am, help me. Help me to not feel alone. I believe He heard me, so I thank Him.
Only down side to this shin dig is that Treba dobar tus! I sure need a shower now from all that dancing--interestingly, the Spanish translation of Treba dobar tus is closer than it is in English, as it literally means, I need a good shower! Necesito un buen ban~o!

Gdje se nalazi mjenjachnica za strane valute?

So I'm living in an apartment in Novi Zagreb (New Zagreb), the part of town where many students and young people live. Trams are filled with skinny jean-wearing Croatian hipsters, with stripes, huge sunglasses and all-together stylish ensembles. Things were going pretty naturally, as I figured out the tram system with little to no difficulty and can get to and from the main square. So today, in all of my confident glory, I go to the market, as I would in the States. Wonderful! No one speaks English here. Ok, so I struggle to ask for ham and cheese, but we work it out. I go to the cashier and lo and behold, I thought I had more kunas than I did. The nervousness/anxiety/embarassment associated with such encounters kicks in.... Thankfully the guy behind me in the line spoke English and was able to say, "She left her money elsewhere. She'll come back." How was I supposed to say I didn't have enough Kunas? So I frantically walk to the apartment, call my roommate, who tells me to take the tram three stops down to the mall to find a mienjachnica--an exchange office.
I get to the bank and exchange my money. Still feeling a little anxious, drop my money on the ground. And when I finally return to the store they have my groceries packed away nice and neatly while saying something about la Inglesa (the English-speaker?). But no! I'm a Spanish-speaker too, darnit! Oh yea, I forgot, that doesn't count for anything here.

Leaving Sarajevo

It’s raining here in Sarajevo. The morning reminds me of 8am’s in Boston, with the rush of the people going to work. Driven. Open shop! Gates opening and people waiting for buses.
Except there’s music playing in Downtown Sarajevo. Yes, music—on a Monday--early afternoon. And the Bosnian-British accent of the tour guide resounds, “We Bosnians love our coffee, and you just have to sip it for half an hour. Oh and, you never sip coffee alone. Always with friends.” “We can’t afford to be psycho here,” she says, “so our friends are our psychiatrists over coffee.” My racing heart, desperate for some slowing down, eats it all up; breathes the fresh air of slow pace and slows….

Anmelden

I assume that "anmelden" means "sign in" in German because it was on the same side that "sign in" and "entre la contrasena" appears on the top of my blog page.
See, I'm bilingual, so I have not had a real incentive to pay more attention to my love for languages. But here I find myself, not being able to hide under the cover of Latino bilingualism or slip under the radar as a member of the Latin American diaspora. I am foreign here. For the first time. I am completely foreign. And I'm American. So for the first time, I'm forced to squint at these words and handle the interesting looks and grapple with what seems like a whole bunch of consonants jumbled together.
Now where is the sign out button?
Abmelden.....

Silvio Rodriguez_Sueno con serpientes

Wow. This is beautiful.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88kZIM6zXn0&feature=related

I am in love with this song for so many reasons. [If you don't read Spanish, enter these words on google translator]

Sueño con serpientes
(Silvio Rodríguez)

Hay hombres que luchan un día
y son buenos.
Hay otros que luchan un año
y son mejores.
Hay quienes luchan muchos años
y son muy buenos.
Pero hay los que luchan toda la vida:
esos son los imprescindibles.
Bertolt Brecht

Sueño con serpientes, con serpientes de mar,
con cierto mar, ay, de serpientes sueño yo.
Largas, transparentes, y en sus barrigas llevan
lo que puedan arrebatarle al amor.

Oh, la mato y aparece una mayor.
Oh, con mucho más infierno en digestión.

No quepo en su boca. Me trata de tragar
pero se atora con un trébol de mi sien.
Creo que está loca. Le doy de masticar
una paloma y la enveneno de mi bien.

Ésta al fin me engulle, y mientras por su esófago
paseo, voy pensando en qué vendrá.
Pero se destruye cuando llego a su estómago
y planteo con un verso una verdad.


(Note: this is the best I version I could find sound-wise..Disregard the fact that its dedicated to survivors of snake bites... Unless you're down with that cause... That's not the reason this song is meaningful to me... No disrespect to snake bite-survivors)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88kZIM6zXn0&feature=related

Weird..

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7937483.stm

WAT?
"Receptionist robot, Saya, has her first proper day at work after testing in a real Tokyo classroom earlier this year"

So this is what my grandmother was talking about when she would make her predictions for the millenium....

Who knew?

If you would have known me as a freshman and if you would have told me, 

"Annery, you're going to spend an extra year at Gordon, and by the end of your time there, you're going to love it." 

I would have either a. cried or b. looked at you like you had ten heads. 

But its the truth! I am sitting here, during spring break, sitting in Lane--the student center. 

Yes. It's lame. And no, I'm not actually here because I want to be, but because I had to make up an exam. But the point I'm trying to make is that this is the second day I've been at the North Shore during my spring break. I actually hung out in the North Shore last night, for most of the day. And what does that mean? It means that my primary community is here. 

Weird. 

P.S. Since I've given up facebook for a month, I'm totally using this blog as a substitute. 

Slumdog Millionaire

First, let me start be saying: WHOA! 

This movie took me to film heaven. It was everything I could have asked for in a movie. Here's why. 

I'm a sucker for the rags to riches story, especially when it avoids being cliche and is as authentic as this one. To see the reality of poverty, religious conflict and the social factors that can determine whether one survives or dies, is powerful. 

There's one scene in the movie when Jamal encounters his childhood friend, the blind singer, and he says to Jamal, "I was not as lucky as you." Luck. It is the hope of those in situations like the ones Jamal and Salim are in. Their hope for a better life does not lie in rule of law, democracy or education. It lies in luck. And Jamal was lucky. He was lucky that the questions that were asked of him coincided with his experience. He was lucky that he and his brother were able to escape the children's camp they were confined in. Chance. 

So does chance and luck determine our fate to the same degree that it might determine the fate of those in the developing world? Perhaps. But perhaps the risk is more acute for them because they do not have other institutions or privileges to rely on. 

But there's another aspect to this movie, "It is written." And it brings me back to the idea of a telos, of our purpose--a telos that is pre-determined by something above ourselves.... Something that we cannot necessarily control. I'm not advocating for Calvinism in any way here, but I am saying that we do not control our purpose. We may control the extent to which we fulfill this purpose. We may control our choices, but the greater purpose for which we are here and the contributions to the world we are supposed to make are probably designed by something larger than us. 

 www.youtube.com/watch?v=mV912uIRM_A

A word to cupid

So my friends and I are in our twenties; either college graduates or soon-to-be. Its that time where there seems to be an epidemic of engagements, weddings and babies (not necessarily in that order).

Some of us want to be part of the flock and be part of this party---understandable when all that our engaged/married friends seem to talk about is how great their relationships are. Yet, others of us couldn't care less. Others of us are absorbed in the possibility of careers, travel, Europe, figuring ourselves out, reconnecting with Latin America, finding ourselves and doing that which we love most. Others of us wouldn't completely reject the idea of dating people, finding companionship, compatibility, love...bla bla bla, but are content to fall in love with things like music, art, friendships, pursuing goals and our respective sense(s) of calling.

And so here's a word to cupid (e.g. my friends who lovingly want to set me up)...

Most things in life happen naturally...

I was struck by the words of my professor: Marriage is miracle. Marriage is mercy.

And I would agree with her that its totally a supernatural thing--a miraculous thing--to find someone who you connect with on the levels of mind, body, emotion and spirit. And I trust God to bring one who connects with me in that way when its time and when its appropriate. And if its never time and never appropriate I've seen this Being bring me through seemingly impossible situations before. Yes, Latino mothers, grandmothers and pastors....it is possible to be a woman with a calling who is unmarried and satisfied with her life.

Don't get my wrong here...I'm not someone who says, "I don't need a man." I just don't know if I NEED a man. Its a want....like most people. Its a desire. But its not a need. And its not in my radar.

So next time I say, "that guy is kind of cute" please refrain from calling him; slipping a marketing ad about how great I am in his Bible; winking at him and pointing at me...OH! And my all time favorite: Setting up some kind of "random" get-together where we just "happen" to meet (I think you all give it away when everyone at the event miraculously disappears from the room and only us two are left twitling our fingers and making small talk:

-So....ugh....where do you go to school?

-Harvard...you?

-A small school in the middle of nowhere...Gordon College.

-yea. I've never heard about it before.

-So...how do you know __________ and _________....

30 minutes of small talk pass....

UGH...WE CAN HEAR YOU WHISPERING AND GIGGLING IN THE KITCHEN!

I really hope that this is not the only way people can meet.

I love the saying, "romance is a friendship on fire." And I'm a true believer of this. Some of my greatest friendships have been the most natural. I would imagine that a relationship works similarly. Anything forced, anything pushed...doesn't usually work. I would imagine that meeting "the one"is similar. It's natural, there's a discernible connection and chemistry that happens almost instantly.

And to my gurls...I am socially satisfied and thankful for all of you...(so much)...

But please stop trying to be cupid.

Lovingly,

Your sister.

Picture from : memyselfandhi.wordpress.com/2008/06/19/

My Favorite Cafe's

Algiers: Cambridge, MA

Brattle Street, Harvard Square

Algiers is a Middle Eastern cafe: serves Turkish and Arabic coffee and wonderfully prepared Middle Eastern meals.

This is one of my favorite cafe's, particularly because of how aesthetically pleasing it is. The combination of beautiful paintings on the walls, the steel stairs/railing, the mirrors, decorative hookas, wine bottles, deep reds and earth tone colors is enough to provide a relaxing atmosphere for me.

I'm particularly a fan of the windows on the first floor overlooking the quaint Cambridge Center for Adult Education building.
I usually go here when I am wanting to read, in need of a good workspace, for a coffee date/lunch or when I just want to relax and journal. The crowd helps provide a "study-like"atmosphere. Throughout the years I've picked up a lot of conversations about string theory, for instance, and psychology, Harvard professors and existential crises. These people make me want to study!


Trident Booksellers and Cafe
Newbury Street, Boston

Funkier feel.


Perks: Free Wifi, a versatile assortment of books (from philosophy to literature to those humorous books with titles like: "100 things to do before you get old and boring"), magazines (from all over the world), funky cards and journals.

I go here with a group of people or when I'm in the mood for finding a new good read. I've bought many cool gifts here, including a card with a decked-out Monalisa (she had bling, a nose ring, a clutch and lipstick, I believe). I especially like going on Sunday afternoons--good crowd, good chill spot.


1369 in Inman Square, Cambridge

I have a special affection for this place.

It is so Cambridge...
Homier feel...


Here's what I mean:

You have your typical college-aged barristas: you got your nose ring, your indie-type and your punkish guy.
Then you have the man who's always rocking some sort of interesting constume (everything from a funky version of Santa Clause to rocker dude). You must also know that he is always super happy and friendly.

You have the old couple that have been coming here on Sunday mornings for like 25 years (exaggeration--I dont know when this cafe was built). You have the professor; the sociologist; that archeologist that has made some awesome discoveries; the dude who comes here with his kid to draw and then folks like me (i.e. college students looking for a place to study)..all against the backdrop of indie music, rock and your occasional Erykah Badu (I've received some good music recommendations here...Good place to build up your music collection).

I get a lot of good studying done here. I've had some great conversations; had some good book recommendations and met some wonderful people.

Essentialy... love 1369 for the sense of community. It's really cute too.



Pleasant Street Tea Co.
Pleasant Street, Gloucester

I was introduced to this cafe through a couple of friends on the North Shore. On the afternoon that I was there they had a good poetry reading. Its relaxing, funky and good for hanging out with friends/dates.

They had some of the funkiest tea and coffee travel mugs I had ever seen and a lot of cool decorative items for sale.
The barristas were also friendly and chill...



Pictures cited
Algiers:loquelasguiasnodicen.wordpress.com/2006/11/
Trident Booksellers and Cafe: www.telegraph.co.uk
1369: www.dkimages.com
Pleasant Street Tea Co: www.udine4less.com

Thinking Practically

So I usually utilize this blog to write really intense things that I don't particularly want everyone to see. That's what facebook is for.


But I find myself on vacation, contemplating "the meaning of life"as usual (go ahead laugh...) and I realize that my time may be better spent by emersing myself in practical things. I was struck by Kierkegaard's idea of the self: the relation. If one is stuck in the realm of the infinite (the abstract) one goes into despair, and if one dwells only the realm of the finite (materialistic) one is also in despair. The "knight of faith" is the one who is able to travel between these two realms--can engage life and think about it's meaning; can be spiritual and embodied; can be ambitious and understand her finitude. So all that philosophical jargon only to say that I've been trying to be more practical as of late. It's hard!

A list of things that help me become more practical:

• Sodoku
• Working towards being one of those super disciplined clean people I have trouble becoming by taking small steps to organize my room, clean and try to follow the to-do lists I make for myself
• 
  Thinking about what I want to be when I grow up
• 
  Researching possibilities through websites, tapping into my networks and employment search engines
  
• Learning about other countries, looking at pictures of different cities and wondering how realisitc it is for me to live in these places
• Knitting (I made a scarf and I have no idea how to finish it)
• Browsing through interesting blogs about fashion, politics, art, photography and cooking [Yes...cooking. I bought myself a baking book at Borders and it is sweet! Hopefully one day my creations will actually look like the pictures].
  
  
  
  And all of this practicality helps balance my philosophical tendency--my tendency to get lost in the realm of the infinite. Life is beautiful--not just because of the way we might interpret it, but there are plenty of beautiful things to see and experience. We'd be missing out by locking ourselves in an ivory tower, or by hiding in our books. In fact, there wouldn't be much to interpret without the content--the living, the experienes.
  
  
  
  Picture by Ansel Adams: http://www.anseladams.com/images/assets/main_anselAdamsPhotography.jpg