I wish it was raining. I realized just this second that I have been listening to an unprecedented amount of music that mentions the rain lately. Coincidence...?
10000 Maniacs
If I were you,
defiant you, alone
upon a troubled way.
I would send my
heart to you to
save it for a rainy day...
The Killers
We took a walk that night,
but it wasn't the same
We had a fight on the
promenade out in the rain
Maroon Five
I don't mind spending
every night out on the
corner in the pouring rain.
Nora Jones
And I want to wake
up with the rain
falling on a tin roof.
Wallflowers
I'm bringing down my suitcase now
I'm shining up my good shoes brown
cause no-one knows my name
Now, no-one knows my name
So look out into the morning rain
cause I'm on the mourning train
It's raining men, halejula
no just kidding... I don't even know who sings it!
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
According to Mohammed, Anthropology Professor extraordinaire:
When we say I romantically love you, we mean a host of things including, but not limited to, I care about you, I will be loyal to you, I will protect you, I like who you are, I can rely on you and you can rely on me, I admire you, you inspire me, you make me feel good...etc.
But we also mean, I like being physically intimate with you. I like kissing you and having sex with only you. Physical intimacy is a defining factor because in its absence, we could be describing how we feel about our best friends. When physical intimacy is a factor, jealousy is a factor. We are jealous because, according to Freud, humans lapse into mental psychosis. Romantic love makes rational human beings irrational.
All of us twitterpated, romantic fools are on the pathway to mental psychosis where a good majority of us have already gone. Mohammed and Freud aren't saying anything new here. We already knew that love drives us crazy. But I think that being sane and out of love is much worse.
Crazy? I was crazy once...
When we say I romantically love you, we mean a host of things including, but not limited to, I care about you, I will be loyal to you, I will protect you, I like who you are, I can rely on you and you can rely on me, I admire you, you inspire me, you make me feel good...etc.
But we also mean, I like being physically intimate with you. I like kissing you and having sex with only you. Physical intimacy is a defining factor because in its absence, we could be describing how we feel about our best friends. When physical intimacy is a factor, jealousy is a factor. We are jealous because, according to Freud, humans lapse into mental psychosis. Romantic love makes rational human beings irrational.
All of us twitterpated, romantic fools are on the pathway to mental psychosis where a good majority of us have already gone. Mohammed and Freud aren't saying anything new here. We already knew that love drives us crazy. But I think that being sane and out of love is much worse.
Crazy? I was crazy once...
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Not Talking
Storms brewing on the western shore
with clouds of doom, precognoscente
of a fatal electric strike. Thunder echoes
in between glassy towers streaming
with sleeting peril. Tears of rain, tearing
like a knife.
Storms brooding like an old maid
rocking, rocking...
darker, darker
threatening to read my mind
threatening to take me down
Storms of screeching birds, plummeting
wings on an ashy wind. Smelling of intense
fear like a musty, threadbare tree,
a slinking cat with wide, yellow eyes, tail
tucked in howling fear.
Storms ripping chemical rain and steely ice.
hotter and colder
There is a life cracked open and bleeding,
sweeping down the metallic streets
with green downpour. Charcoal dreams
are muddied dust in a quivering sky.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Do you ever feel like you are going to burst? Maybe that is not the word for it. Essentially, I mean, do you ever feel so overwhelmed by all the problems and issues, big and small, that need your attention, immediate attention, that you can't imagine being able to attend one of them much less all or any of them? So you retract. You don't do anything and waste away your life, slothing through the motions. You live your life, but you don't live it for anything or anyone. That's how I feel. The world is dying and I can't do anything about it. This beautiful world, this amazing sphere of people, music, dancing, oceans, houses, forests, freeways, markets, beads, books, flowers, universities, espresso drinks, pierced ears, marriage, color, saltines in little plastic packs, airplanes, tro-tros, terraced farming, commercialism, pollution, snails, rice paddies, sun set beaches and marmalade analogies. This world is dying. There are 6.4 billion people in the world. One recycled aluminum can will power a television for three hours. Flying from Seattle to New York will completely nullify an entire years worth of recycling. The coral reefs and glaciers in Glacier National Park will be gone during my lifetime. In 20 years, the world population will more than double. Our road less wildernesses are no longer going to be protected but harvested instead. The Mexican wolves have all but become extinct. The last wild Mexican wolf, named Lobo, was lured into a trap by his mate's carcass. His captures tethered him in a field and humiliated and tortured him. In the morning, they found the leader of the pack stone cold and dead. For years he had out-witted them, avoiding their poison and steel traps. And in one fell swoop, they killed him; they broke his heart and his spirit.I am a white, blond, green-eyed female. Therefore, I have an accumulated advantage. I will be more likely to get a job, buy an apartment, make a better deal on a car and hail a taxi than any other non-white person. I will not be as likely to be sentenced five more years for a crime or pulled over for speeding. I know all these things. I know that there is inequity and injustice and poverty and pollution etc. The picture is bleak. As individuals we are good but we manifest a society full of discriminating bigots who consume 65 gallons of water a day and over 1/3 of the world’s resources. I feel like crying and I left out so much that I do not know. I am going to get it out right now. I am a polluter, I drive a car and throw away trash and sometimes get bags at the grocery store. I use paper cups and too much toilet paper. I buy things that were not made locally. I am not a conscious consumer and I would rather keep my shower water on while washing. I have expensive, unnecessary things and I think my world is coming to an end when I have to pay 9 dollars to see a movie. At least I have nine dollars to spend on a movie. I am a huge part of the problem. I am sorry but just being aware is not going to make any difference at all. Look at me, I am aware and I still drive my car to work and I still buy Tevas from China and I still blow hot air out of my mouth while sitting on my butt, probably conuming more than my share of petroleum products.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
I just have a lot of fragments today. I am fragmenting, I think...
The Sarah's and I, once again, kicked butt in Bloomsday. We did almost everything exactly the same as last year on May 3, including frisbee, dinner in Coeur D'Alene and crashing at Gramma Joyce's house. However, we were down one woman. Our dear darling Rena forsaked us for her ever-so-important work. And instead of running the race at the same pace we all beat our times from last year. I finished the sucker in 1:15 on the nose, making that my second fastest of my four races. We also had the pleasure of meeting up with our neighbor, Hilary. Saralita left her CDs in my car and I discovered that she has been hording an old friend. We have been catching up. This is what we've been discussing.
Have You Seen Me Lately
Counting Crows
Get away from me
this isn't gonna be easy
but I don't need you
believe me
you got a piece of me
but it's just a little piece of me
and I don't need anyone
and these days I feel
like I'm fading away
like sometimes when
I hear myself on the radio
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio
starting to change
somewhere out in America
it's starting to rain
could you tell me the
things you remember about me
and have you seen me lately?
I remember me
and all the little things
that make up a memory
like she said she loved
to watch me sleep
like she said,
"it's the breathing
it's the breathing in and out and in
and..."Have you seen me lately?
Probably not... I've been too busy rolling my sticks of gum up in little spirals and then biting off each end so that the cylinder forms a square. I've been too busy using/consuming an average of 65 gallons of water a day. I held hands with someone during a casual conversation. It reminded me of Ghana. I've forgotten a lot. I have it all written down somewhere and when I'm not fading away, I will remember. Someone told me today that this might be the last day that we have together...
The Sarah's and I, once again, kicked butt in Bloomsday. We did almost everything exactly the same as last year on May 3, including frisbee, dinner in Coeur D'Alene and crashing at Gramma Joyce's house. However, we were down one woman. Our dear darling Rena forsaked us for her ever-so-important work. And instead of running the race at the same pace we all beat our times from last year. I finished the sucker in 1:15 on the nose, making that my second fastest of my four races. We also had the pleasure of meeting up with our neighbor, Hilary. Saralita left her CDs in my car and I discovered that she has been hording an old friend. We have been catching up. This is what we've been discussing.
Have You Seen Me Lately
Counting Crows
Get away from me
this isn't gonna be easy
but I don't need you
believe me
you got a piece of me
but it's just a little piece of me
and I don't need anyone
and these days I feel
like I'm fading away
like sometimes when
I hear myself on the radio
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio
starting to change
somewhere out in America
it's starting to rain
could you tell me the
things you remember about me
and have you seen me lately?
I remember me
and all the little things
that make up a memory
like she said she loved
to watch me sleep
like she said,
"it's the breathing
it's the breathing in and out and in
and..."Have you seen me lately?
Probably not... I've been too busy rolling my sticks of gum up in little spirals and then biting off each end so that the cylinder forms a square. I've been too busy using/consuming an average of 65 gallons of water a day. I held hands with someone during a casual conversation. It reminded me of Ghana. I've forgotten a lot. I have it all written down somewhere and when I'm not fading away, I will remember. Someone told me today that this might be the last day that we have together...
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
I wish I was feeling more articulate because I have some fairly complex, weighted and emotional issues roiling around in my head and I would like to sort them out. Here's the tip of the iceberg: Currently, I am in the midst of processing myself for the acceptation into two institutions. The first of which and the source of much of my internal angst is the University of Montana. Lately, the U of M has been littering my mail with acceptance letters, financial awards and orientation notices. The onslaught of letters is suddenly making it painfully obvious that I will be living and going to school in Montana in a little over three months and that the Seattle era is drawing to a close in a matter of weeks. After attempting to make this city my home for three years, I am finally pulling out. At the risk of sounding corny and pathetic, I'm going to confess that it is tearing me apart. I love Seattle and Seattle wouldn't be nearly as cool if it weren't for my Seattleites. I love my Seattleites and as selfish as this sounds, I don't want their life to go on without me. Enough...listen to me wail about my opportunity to go school when some people will never even have the chance. Moving on to the second institution, the US Forest Service. After an unmentionable amount of long distance minutes on the phone to places like Kooskia, ID and Darrington, WA and Sula, MT, and hours on the gov. website filling out the generic application form and days worth of silent agony, I was offered a job on a trail crew in North Bend, Washington. For lack of a better word, I am stoked. North Bend is the ranger district directly south of the ranger district that I worked for last summer. I will be busting my butt in a different area of the same beautiful Alpine Lakes Wilderness. So there you have it: As of June 13, I will no longer be a Seattleite but a nomad of the forest once more and after that, well, I'll be too far away for regular weekend trips that's for sure. I would love to delve into the icy waters that hide the rest of the iceberg but I haven't the intellectual prowess right now and oh, look at the time, I have to get up for work in an hour...
Saturday, April 23, 2005
{God speed all the bakers at dawn may they all cut their thumbs,
And bleed into their buns 'till they melt away. }
Last night, I had a nightmare. This is the first nightmare that I have had since my premonition. I dreamed that while I was cleaning the meat slicer at Great Harvest, I lopped off my thumb. I woke up instantly and found that my entire hand was asleep. I really hope that this was just a bad dream and not a glimpse into the future. Though I must say that I have increased the odds substantially by operating and cleaning a slicer three times a week. On another interesting note, my entry from April 23, 2004 is all about a previous digit-wounding experience.
And bleed into their buns 'till they melt away. }
Last night, I had a nightmare. This is the first nightmare that I have had since my premonition. I dreamed that while I was cleaning the meat slicer at Great Harvest, I lopped off my thumb. I woke up instantly and found that my entire hand was asleep. I really hope that this was just a bad dream and not a glimpse into the future. Though I must say that I have increased the odds substantially by operating and cleaning a slicer three times a week. On another interesting note, my entry from April 23, 2004 is all about a previous digit-wounding experience.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
{If I can learn things like this in school then it's all worth it}
Compress the entire 4.6 billion years of geologic time into a single year. On that scale, the oldest Earth rocks we know date from early February. Living things first appeared in the sea in the last week of March. Land plants and animals emerged in late November, and the widespread swamps that formed the Pennsylvania coal deposits flourished for about four days in early December. Dinosaurs became dominant in mid-December but disappeared on the 26th, at about the time the Rocky Mountains were first uplifted. Humanlike creatures appeared sometime during the evening of December 31st, and the most recent continental ice sheets began to recede from the Great Lakes area and from northern Europe about one minute and 15 seconds before midnight on the 31st. Rome ruled the Western world for 5 seconds, from 11:59:45 to 11:59:50. Columbus arrived in America 3 seconds before midnight, and the science of geology was born with the writings of James Hutton just slightly more than one second before the end of our eventful year of years (Geologic Time, 2nd ed. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1978)
Compress the entire 4.6 billion years of geologic time into a single year. On that scale, the oldest Earth rocks we know date from early February. Living things first appeared in the sea in the last week of March. Land plants and animals emerged in late November, and the widespread swamps that formed the Pennsylvania coal deposits flourished for about four days in early December. Dinosaurs became dominant in mid-December but disappeared on the 26th, at about the time the Rocky Mountains were first uplifted. Humanlike creatures appeared sometime during the evening of December 31st, and the most recent continental ice sheets began to recede from the Great Lakes area and from northern Europe about one minute and 15 seconds before midnight on the 31st. Rome ruled the Western world for 5 seconds, from 11:59:45 to 11:59:50. Columbus arrived in America 3 seconds before midnight, and the science of geology was born with the writings of James Hutton just slightly more than one second before the end of our eventful year of years (Geologic Time, 2nd ed. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1978)
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
On my run today (I'm up to thirty minutes a day) on the Burke Gilman trail, I was astounded by the sight of two merganser ducks, one male and one female, flying side by side down the trail at a break-neck speed of 15 miles per hour about two feet off the ground. They were plummeting right toward me without any sign of swerving to the side. Not quite comprehending that I was directly in their path, I kept plodding away while musing over their close proximity to each other and the ground. It finally donned on me that they were on a race to the death and that they weren't going to part ways to avoid a collision with me. I jumped to the side as they zoomed by. I turned around, mouth gaping, to watch them fly wing tip to wing tip down the trail and out of site around a bend. Later, on my cool-down walk, I saw the pair languidly floating in a swamp. I feel like this is some metaphor or sign but I'm not sure what. Any ideas, serious, funny or lame (I could use a laugh)?
Monday, April 11, 2005
what have i been up to lately?
i've was working at the SCCC bookstore. that was an interesting experience. at least we listened to the RHPS soundtrack and prince. i've also been working at Great Harvest Bread Company. i am a barista/sandwich maker/bread server. customer service is a bit of a drag but i like the customers and the employees and i really like making drinks. i've been hiking up and down and around. most of the days i've gone it has rained or hailed or snowed. but no matter. i have been schooling. yes, that's right, schooling and homeworking. i like my classes, i think. so far they are interesting. i will explain why humans don't have fur and the "universal timeline in relation to a year" someday soon. i appreciate incentives to learn new things. i went to see Finding Neverland. i also went to cry. sometimes i need a release. i still need a release. i spent time with my dad. we went to cafes and listened to live jazz. we went and saw colorful tulips in the skagit valley and we dined on indian and thai cuisine. i went to a concert. i'm going to more concerts, most importantly, The Shins. i'm training for bloomsday on may 1. times a flying and i've only just got my fairy dust. now it's time to think happy thoughts.
i've was working at the SCCC bookstore. that was an interesting experience. at least we listened to the RHPS soundtrack and prince. i've also been working at Great Harvest Bread Company. i am a barista/sandwich maker/bread server. customer service is a bit of a drag but i like the customers and the employees and i really like making drinks. i've been hiking up and down and around. most of the days i've gone it has rained or hailed or snowed. but no matter. i have been schooling. yes, that's right, schooling and homeworking. i like my classes, i think. so far they are interesting. i will explain why humans don't have fur and the "universal timeline in relation to a year" someday soon. i appreciate incentives to learn new things. i went to see Finding Neverland. i also went to cry. sometimes i need a release. i still need a release. i spent time with my dad. we went to cafes and listened to live jazz. we went and saw colorful tulips in the skagit valley and we dined on indian and thai cuisine. i went to a concert. i'm going to more concerts, most importantly, The Shins. i'm training for bloomsday on may 1. times a flying and i've only just got my fairy dust. now it's time to think happy thoughts.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Time is always moving forward but why do I feel like I'm stuck in the past year? I'm not bemoaning it, wishing it different or celebrating it, I'm just dwelling there, reveling perhaps...I guess I'll take The Shins' advice and skip with it...
Gone For Good Lyrics
Untie me, I've said no vows
The train is getting way too loud
I gotta leave here my girl
Get on with my lonely life
Just leave the ring on the rail
For the wheels to nullify
Until this turn in my head
I let you stay and you paid no rent
I spent twelve long months on the lam
That's enough sitting on the fence
For the fear of breaking dams
I find a fatal flaw
In the logic of love
And go out of my head
You love a sinking stone
That'll never elope
So get used to the lonesome
Girl, you must atone some
Don't leave me no phone number there
It took me all of a year
To put the poison pill to your ear
But now I stand on honest ground, on honest ground
You want to fight for this love
But honey you cannot wrestle a dove
So baby it's clear
You want to jump and dance
But you sat on your hands
And lost your only chance
Go back to your hometown
Get your feet on the ground
And stop floating around
I find a fatal flaw
In the logic of love
And go out of my head
You love a sinking stone
That'll never elope
So get used to used to the lonesome
Girl, you must atone some
Don't leave me no phone number there
Gone For Good Lyrics
Untie me, I've said no vows
The train is getting way too loud
I gotta leave here my girl
Get on with my lonely life
Just leave the ring on the rail
For the wheels to nullify
Until this turn in my head
I let you stay and you paid no rent
I spent twelve long months on the lam
That's enough sitting on the fence
For the fear of breaking dams
I find a fatal flaw
In the logic of love
And go out of my head
You love a sinking stone
That'll never elope
So get used to the lonesome
Girl, you must atone some
Don't leave me no phone number there
It took me all of a year
To put the poison pill to your ear
But now I stand on honest ground, on honest ground
You want to fight for this love
But honey you cannot wrestle a dove
So baby it's clear
You want to jump and dance
But you sat on your hands
And lost your only chance
Go back to your hometown
Get your feet on the ground
And stop floating around
I find a fatal flaw
In the logic of love
And go out of my head
You love a sinking stone
That'll never elope
So get used to used to the lonesome
Girl, you must atone some
Don't leave me no phone number there
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
I found it nestled in a giant tree that overlooks the Sound and the strangely warm sun that makes my plastic hair smell like Ghana. I found it on a hill top while the full moon waved in the water of Lake Union and the city formed a bridge of light between the blackness of the water and sky. I found it in a conversation with good friends, home cooked curry and a guitar/bass with 9 strings. I found it in random visits and planned ones too, the pigeons of Pioneer Square and incredible generosity from my friends and family.
High Spirits
I hid for an hour, high
in a tree and I found him
sitting right next to me.
And when I turned my head,
I found him all around,
basking in the bright yellow
buds, sunlight searing high.
Making no sound,
he grasped my hand,
held it tight, and then
slowly let it go again.
And the yellow petals
scattered windward,
while white clouds washed
the bright sky like words.
Alone, I sadly thought
and scrambled silently down
to the waving field of clover.
But I felt a weight on my palm
and so slowly turned it over.
Painted there in pastel nectar
was the shape of a dove,
a symbol of peace, a reminder
that I am loved.
High Spirits
I hid for an hour, high
in a tree and I found him
sitting right next to me.
And when I turned my head,
I found him all around,
basking in the bright yellow
buds, sunlight searing high.
Making no sound,
he grasped my hand,
held it tight, and then
slowly let it go again.
And the yellow petals
scattered windward,
while white clouds washed
the bright sky like words.
Alone, I sadly thought
and scrambled silently down
to the waving field of clover.
But I felt a weight on my palm
and so slowly turned it over.
Painted there in pastel nectar
was the shape of a dove,
a symbol of peace, a reminder
that I am loved.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Saturday, March 12, 2005
News from the front!
I have made it 3 slobbery nights in a row in an effort to wear my retainer consecutively for a month. In addition, I have moved into my poor sleep cycle where I fall asleep late, wake up and am restless in the middle of the night and awake for good around 7, 8 or 9 am. So far, the adverse effects of this aren't rearing their ugly head. I have made positive contact with several life forms within the US forest service and baring any mishaps, miscommunications, time constrictions and bad luck, I just may have a crew job this summer. But who needs a job for the summer if they already have one in the Spring? Which I do! I guess I should add that it's a conditionally temporary job. I am only guaranteed one week of work at the SCCC bookstore during rush and buy back but it has the potential to be extended, if I'm not voted off the island. Last but not least, I'm putting on my glasses, picking up the pen, cinching up my backpack straps and going back to school. I hope I don't get eaten.
I have made it 3 slobbery nights in a row in an effort to wear my retainer consecutively for a month. In addition, I have moved into my poor sleep cycle where I fall asleep late, wake up and am restless in the middle of the night and awake for good around 7, 8 or 9 am. So far, the adverse effects of this aren't rearing their ugly head. I have made positive contact with several life forms within the US forest service and baring any mishaps, miscommunications, time constrictions and bad luck, I just may have a crew job this summer. But who needs a job for the summer if they already have one in the Spring? Which I do! I guess I should add that it's a conditionally temporary job. I am only guaranteed one week of work at the SCCC bookstore during rush and buy back but it has the potential to be extended, if I'm not voted off the island. Last but not least, I'm putting on my glasses, picking up the pen, cinching up my backpack straps and going back to school. I hope I don't get eaten.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
I am learning things. See...
Black Bart
The "Po8"
To distinguish himself from garden variety bandits, Bart would leave peoms in place of the treasure boxes he stole from Wells Fargo. Beware of the man in a flour sack and derby hat. Once when a panicked womean tossed her purse to Black Bart, he refused it and said, "Thank you madam, but I don't need your money. I only want Wells Fargo's." Black Bart was eventaully caught on his 28th robbery and imprisoned for four years. After his release, when asked if he was goig to rob any more stagecoaches he replied, "No, gentlemen, I'm through with crime." Another reporter asked if he would write more poetry. He laughed and said, "Now didn't you hear me say that I am through with crime?"
Here I lay me down to sleep,
To wait the coming morrow.
Perhaps success, perhaps defeat
And everlasting sorrow
I've labored long and hard for bread,
For honor and for riches,
But on my corns too long you tred
You fine-haired sons-of-Bitches.
Let come what will, I'll try it on,
My condition can't be worse
But if there's money in that box--
'Tis munny in my purse.
P08
Black Bart
The "Po8"
To distinguish himself from garden variety bandits, Bart would leave peoms in place of the treasure boxes he stole from Wells Fargo. Beware of the man in a flour sack and derby hat. Once when a panicked womean tossed her purse to Black Bart, he refused it and said, "Thank you madam, but I don't need your money. I only want Wells Fargo's." Black Bart was eventaully caught on his 28th robbery and imprisoned for four years. After his release, when asked if he was goig to rob any more stagecoaches he replied, "No, gentlemen, I'm through with crime." Another reporter asked if he would write more poetry. He laughed and said, "Now didn't you hear me say that I am through with crime?"
Here I lay me down to sleep,
To wait the coming morrow.
Perhaps success, perhaps defeat
And everlasting sorrow
I've labored long and hard for bread,
For honor and for riches,
But on my corns too long you tred
You fine-haired sons-of-Bitches.
Let come what will, I'll try it on,
My condition can't be worse
But if there's money in that box--
'Tis munny in my purse.
P08
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Scientific Impossibility
This town holds no comfort
for me. Cold buildings sting my eyes
like jalapeno stained fingers.
This grassy dale echoes with our footsteps
and the ocean retracts the toppled
stones into its belly.
This book whispers our names
like a bee searching for a hive. I can't
read the words, the page is blank, bitter.
This street rolls along, numb to the measured
chants of our atom-repelling shoes. We never
touched. It's scientifically impossible.
This sky is littered with golden
coins giggling like seagulls, worthless
currency in a moneyless communion.
This town is stale, an empty shell littering
the drain. I love to swing from a song.
I entwine myself in music, finding a friend
This town holds no comfort
for me. Cold buildings sting my eyes
like jalapeno stained fingers.
This grassy dale echoes with our footsteps
and the ocean retracts the toppled
stones into its belly.
This book whispers our names
like a bee searching for a hive. I can't
read the words, the page is blank, bitter.
This street rolls along, numb to the measured
chants of our atom-repelling shoes. We never
touched. It's scientifically impossible.
This sky is littered with golden
coins giggling like seagulls, worthless
currency in a moneyless communion.
This town is stale, an empty shell littering
the drain. I love to swing from a song.
I entwine myself in music, finding a friend
Sunday, March 06, 2005
I think that my trip to Mole National Park was the last you heard of my saga in Ghana. So even though I am home in Seattle and have jumped from Coeur D'Alene, Missoula, Moscow and San Diego, I want to send out a closure email on the Ghanaian chapter. My memories are already fading. I have these vivid pictures in my mind but they are like iceburgs rising out a sea of vagueness. It's depressing really. So I need it, even if you don't.
For those of you who haven't seen me yet, my hair is a bright blue and blond Rasta, a hair style where fake hair is braided into your own hair in many dangling plaits. I added some silver cuffs and super glued cowry shells at the ends. Corn rolls are similar in that fake hair is added but instead, the hair is French braided tight against the scalp. I had my friend Lily plait my hair. It was quite and ordeal and I had to sit for five hours while she braided and he brother chattered on and on about wanting to come to the US, liking my smile, liking my skin, liking my eyes, liking my skin, liking my skin, liking my skin. After having Rasta for about a month, I have grown attached to them. At first they were incredibly itchy and I would walk around slapping my head but now they are comfortable, at least for the most part. I will be sad to remove them because they are great conversation starters, I don't have to wash my hair and it is physical tangible proof that I was actually there. After my braids are gone, all I will have left are memories and a Teva tan.
I went to another church service with my friend, Christopher who I profiled in an earlier post on my journal. The priest was engaging, funny and inspirational. He cracked jokes and made the congregation laugh. The sermon was about living in the light instead of darkness and I felt like I was listening to a motivational speaker. I really could identify with his message on a personal level. In sharp contrast to my earlier Ghanaian church experience, I felt truly motivated and inspired.
I reached a zenith in dealing with Ghanaians when I returned to the post office. If you will recall, my first trip to the post office was miserable and unpleasant. So when I received another package notification I cringed and actually decided to wait for my post office parents to return from South Africa in hopes that they would pick up my packages for me. My curiosity and my general get it done myself attitude won out and I ventured into town as the very picture of Jeanette, my post office mother. I was oozing with goodwill, sugary smiles and generosity. I called each employee by name and I spoutedTwi. I gave them toffees and little gifts for their children (everyone has children). As a result of my selfish generosity I gained two packages full of goodies whose taxes cost a fraction of the taxes of the first post office trip. I walked away from the smiling employees in a wonderful mood. There is no question that I played the system or sucked up but I have to say that approaching the whole ordeal in a positive manner was much more effective then frowning and complaining about the fees. Thank you to my post office parents and Auntie Teri for showing me how to interact and react with/to Ghanaians in a positive rather than a negative manner.
My last week was a flurry of activity; developing pictures, meeting friends for final goodbyes and spending every spare moment at the school or orphanage. I realized at that point that I had made somefriends that I really didn't care to say goodbye to. It was the friends that eventually brought me to the bright side, as it were, and made my time memorable, enjoyable and a learning experience. For the first month, I was miserable and I seriously considered going home early. As I reflect upon the feelings I had during that time, I realize that they were a complex mixture of culture shock, heat shock,and isolation. While I had Cynthia to commiserate with about the dismal tree planting affair, the heat and the vast cultural differences and my host brother to escort me and get my feet under me, I was feeling trapped in a hole of cultural isolation. It wasn't that I wasn't accepted or even welcomed. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I was met with enthusiasm on all sides and people eager to talk about the US. However, I didn't blend in, and that is what I wanted most of all; I wanted to experience Ghana as a Ghanaian does, not as a sensationalized Obruni.
Gloria, the teachers and the children at Tuskegee International Schoolshared themselves and their culture with me. At TIS, I wasn't ananomaly for long and the kids and teachers, after their initial awe (Iwas the first white person many of them had ever seen including television and pictures), relaxed into their normal behaviors and routines. At the school, I think I was able to interact with them as a person and not a "mystical" American. Gloria and I fascinated each other and she delighted in teaching me about her Ghanaian culture. We spent countless hours in the shade of a lime tree exchanging ideas and describing our customs and traditions. She taught me Twi and explainedthe traditions surrounding marriage, child birth and rearing, politics and sexism. We delighted in comparing our cultures and picking out the similarities and their gaping differences. The children, too, sharedtheir games, songs and dances with me. I'll never forget our feet sending up clouds of powdery red earth up around our ankles as we giggled and played Ampe in the school yard or their hysterical laughter as they watched me "shaky shake my body."
The last day at the school was a crazy and I was pulled in every direction. A photographer took pictures of me with each class and then all the teachers. I was trying to teach class 1 how to write andillustrate their pen pal messages and I was teaching class 2 how to weave with construction paper. I never knew that writing a simple ten line letter could be so excruciating and time consuming. I really didn't help matters by telling the kids to put bus stops at the end of their sentences instead of full stops (their word for period). Emmanuel, the poor kid, desperately drew Xs at the end of each sentence and looked at me with wide eyes for approval. I was frustrated and growled "no, bus stop, bus stop, mark a bus stop here."I finally realized that I was saying the wrong word and futilely tried to explain to these kids who are afraid to speak up when they don't understand that teacher is not always right and they should say something if they are confused or the teacher is wrong. I don't think they will remember my message for long but I did get them to laugh.
The American pen pals sent Montana post cards and stickers. The kids were fascinated by the pictures and rightly so. They have never seen stickers much less snow capped mountains, conifer trees or wild bitterroots. They kissed the post cards and waved them around in the air, such joy from such a simple thing. I was whisked into the nursery for a surprise goodbye ceremony. The older kids performed a traditional dance and Auntie Josephina formally thanked me and adorned me with a Kent ceremonial scarf with my name embroidered on it in gold thread. They also gave me a corn husk basket with a tailored batik tie dress, a carving of a figure thinking (so that when I looked at it, I would think of them) and a wooden penholder in the shape of Ghana inside. I had a parallel experience at the orphanage in that I was able to assimilate myself into their community. Though it seems funny to be excited about this, they sometimes even ignored me or left me by myself. There were kids of all ages at the orphanage and while I spent a good deal of time playing with the 3-14 year olds, I "hung out" withpeople of my own age like Fatima, Agnes, Doreen, Aaron, Ricardo, Joe, Emmanuel and Jewel. This was very valuable to me from both a cultural and emotional perspective. It's amazing how desperately a human feels like they need to fit in and/or be accepted. As a more often than not loner, I was surprised at how relieving and comforting it was to have kids my age to laugh, chat and confide with.
One evening my friend Joe was walking me home and I told him how much I wished I had a white person to talk to. Cynthia had left a month ago and I really wanted to dissect my feelings and observations oncultural differences. I liken this feeling to when you are in agood/bad stressful situation. When you are alone, your perspective is warped and internalized. However, if you are with friends, the gravity you are able to joke and make light of the situation. In addition, you can say "remember when" ten years down the road and laugh about it. Anyway, Joe was perplexed and I futilely tried to describe some of the more obvious differences like temperature, sun rise and sun set times, the info structure (or lack there of), poverty, food, school system and transportation system. Hell, even the moon is sideways in Ghana. There are more fascinating and amazing differences to point out than negative ones.
In many cases, the differences are so subtle. It's like Plato's theory of forms and the subsequent perversions of said form in each earthly medium. For example, the perfect form of a chair exists in the eternal ether. The carpenter constructs a chair based on his vision of the eternal one and then the artist paints the chair as he interprets it from the carpenter's. So there is the eternal chair and then there is a Ghanaian chair and an American chair. Both chairs are made for sitting in, made from the same materials and even look the same but they are still interpretations of the eternal. They are inherently different just like the physical chair is inherently different from the painted chair. I guess I could use transportation as a better example. Both USA and Ghanaian transport get you to the final destination, if you know how to work the system, but the method is so different. Ghanaians go by tro-tro or shared cab whereas Americans goby bus or taxi. Both are perversions of the eternal transportation system in the ether. The same is true for cuisine, English language, manners, washing clothes, retail, music…etc. Joe was genuinely sympathetic in a non understanding way and encouraged me to exclaim to him like he did understand. So I went off for at least a half hour, marveling, complaining, declaring, questioning and generally creating a monologue of a whole list of things that were different and amazing to me. Joe laughed and listened and I was purged.
Saying goodbye to the kids at the orphanage was perhaps the most poignant and sudden farewell of all. Instead of talking about my leaving and saying goodbye over a period of time, goodbyes occurred all in a flurry. They sang "thank you and goodbye from the kids at the orphanage" at evening prayers. I gazed at their faces as they sang and realized how small my impact on them had been compared to their impacton me. I managed to hold back my tears as they sang but when they dog piled me, arms encircling every part of my body and faces smiling, I just couldn't keep my tears in anymore. They laughed at my tears and hugged me tighter, pulling me to the ground and sobbing fake tears. I hugged Emmanuel so long that I thought that my arms were going to break and Eben clung to my legs. As I hugged each child good bye individually, Abraham decided to give me a kiss on the cheek. All of my boys followed suit and some even lined up for seconds. I swear there is a little smear mark still on my cheek where they each kissed me. *tear* They are too young to realize or really care that they will never see me again and just as quickly as they surrounded me with their love, they scattered to do their homework and respective chores.
As I sat on the courtyard bench underneath the sideways moon, I thought about how easy it is love and what an amazing impact their love had on me. Granted, life doesn't start and stop with every volunteer that comes and goes at the orphanage and the kids' memory of me will fade into a blur but I do hope that they remember deep down that they were loved and played with and read to. I, on the otherhand, will never forget my kids, their smiles or that Christmas Eve, full moon glowing, choir voices ringing in the humid stillness, when my boys crowded around me and called me mommy, small words to them but big words to me. I am amazed at how much I attached myself to these boys and how they attached themselves to me. Suddenly it was cleart hat life is sharing not consuming and criticizing. Humanity had a purpose and being at the orphanage was all I cared about.
We arm wrestled, read, roller bladed, played football, basketball and tag, wrestled, had thumb wars, tickle fests, spelling bees, hangman games and human acrobatics. They taught me to play Ampe and I taught them to twitch their fingers by probing tendons in their arms. They taught me how to swallow fufu without chewing and I taught them the Itsy Bitsy Spider. They read to me and I brought them toffees. They taught me how to drum and I taught them how to whistle and hum at the same time. They taught me how to eat with my fingers and I taught them how to make it look like their thumbs were cut in two pieces, how to do back bends, dance with chicken legs, make monkey noises, swing dance. They taught me playground songs and I taught them how to do secret handshakes…silly things, we exchanged… but that is all I have to supplement my pictures of them… memories and the things they taught me.
I am and will forever be changed by my kids and at this juncture I can't say how I will act on what I have learned but I am finding connections in America to Africa that I never knew existed. My friend Zach, who has been volunteering in India for the past couple of months, compared his assimilation of his experience to that of the art of photography. It's a process, setting up a picture, snapping the photo, developing the negatives by soaking them in chemicals and waterand hanging them out to dry. Who knows if the contrast will turn outor if the pictures will be centered? I think my pictures are still in the darkness of their film canisters. I can say that I have a renewed appreciation for many of things that I took for granted before. I have never been so delighted to have goose bumps, go for a run or chat freely with my friends face to face and on the telephone.
Today while I as running to Volunteer Park in the chilled breeze withthe clear sun in my eyes, I realized how wonderful it was to be free, free to run, free to open my eyes in the sun's glare, free to stretchin the park and drink in the ocean, skyline and green, green grass. I am free to soar down the pavement on my bike, wind in my face and time on my side, free to sit in a café, undisturbed and write away the day, free to leisurely browse the internet or dance to blaring music in my living room, free to cook dinner, turn on the light in the kitchen inthe middle of the night, and visit friends. I am free to make phonecalls, drop in on friends and family and be the one to approach new friends. The world is amazing and the diversity of my own world is amazing.
I am so lucky to have choices and my future at my fingertips. I am free to be myself and strive to stand out in the middle of acrown. It's amazing how normal my blue hair and bright green Converse shoes are in the middle of Seattle's freak scene. I am reveling in it. I love every shiver, every shower, hug, glass of water from the tap, every phone call and email and minute spent alone and unnoticed in a sea of white, black and brown.
(I do want to say that I'm sure that if I spent enough time in Ghana or even made it my home, I would find a way to make these freedoms that I currently enjoy in America a reality in Ghana. By the time I left, I could imagine and even wanted to live in Ghana for a longer period of time…still do. But it would be after I visit and explore more cultures. After all there are bikes in Ghana and green grass and air conditions and kitchens and radios; I don't know…it's that film coming out of the canister :) )
So how was Ghana? Ghana was a rollercoaster of emotions, a pallet o fcolors and tastes and smells and senses, a spectrum of poverty and guilt and struggle. It was an eye opener, an experience and collision of worlds. It was a dream come true, a goal accomplished and a personal battle won. It was hot, humid and uncomfortable. It was a lesson in humility, generosity, compassion and my own selfishness. I feel like I am being cliché but I desperately hope that I will takewhat I learned about my culture and the culture of the world and apply it to my life everyday, whether it's pausing to admire the beautiful blue sky like my host father or participating in random acts of generosity and kindness like my post office parents or sending metal pencil sharpeners to the kids at TIS.
I will never be able to thank my Ghanaian friends enough for their love and for sharing themselves sototally on so many levels. But Cecilia, Amanor, Dan, Eddie, Laud,Ishmael, Cynthia, Kingsley, Charity, Mary, Precious, Marin, Darrin, Prosper, Lily, Gloria, Charles, Clinton, Millicent, Linda, Josephine, Justina, Yaw, Bufa, Pearl, Christina, Veronica, Lisa, Teri, Baba, Florence, Evelyn, Oba Yaa, Emmanuel, Phyllis, Peace, Comfort, Mary, Bra Joe, Yaa, Eben, Joseph, Ricardo, Jewel, Baba, Doreen, Fatima, Agnes, Abraham, Selasie, Katdyatu, Prince, Kwasie Nanna, Mommy Essy, Stella, Gloria, Abinchee, Victoria, Grace, Bena, Peter, King, Adua, Esther, Rose, Patience, Abraham, Carlton, Caleb, Stella, Gifted, Lydia, Abigail, Pamela, Portia, Christina, Aaron, Moses, Daniel,Godwin, Musah, Sadik, Sena, Felix, Bafa, Archibald, Christopher, Frank, Junior, Zion, Lover, Bless, Belida, Angela, Beatrice, Anita, Michael, Amadu, Benedicta, Jeanette, Charles, Ben, Priscilla, Berther, Isaac, Mercy, Florence, Esther, Monica, Rookie, Adzo, Kwamie…you are amazing. Even though we will never physically meet again, I will hold you in my heart always.
For those of you who haven't seen me yet, my hair is a bright blue and blond Rasta, a hair style where fake hair is braided into your own hair in many dangling plaits. I added some silver cuffs and super glued cowry shells at the ends. Corn rolls are similar in that fake hair is added but instead, the hair is French braided tight against the scalp. I had my friend Lily plait my hair. It was quite and ordeal and I had to sit for five hours while she braided and he brother chattered on and on about wanting to come to the US, liking my smile, liking my skin, liking my eyes, liking my skin, liking my skin, liking my skin. After having Rasta for about a month, I have grown attached to them. At first they were incredibly itchy and I would walk around slapping my head but now they are comfortable, at least for the most part. I will be sad to remove them because they are great conversation starters, I don't have to wash my hair and it is physical tangible proof that I was actually there. After my braids are gone, all I will have left are memories and a Teva tan.
I went to another church service with my friend, Christopher who I profiled in an earlier post on my journal. The priest was engaging, funny and inspirational. He cracked jokes and made the congregation laugh. The sermon was about living in the light instead of darkness and I felt like I was listening to a motivational speaker. I really could identify with his message on a personal level. In sharp contrast to my earlier Ghanaian church experience, I felt truly motivated and inspired.
I reached a zenith in dealing with Ghanaians when I returned to the post office. If you will recall, my first trip to the post office was miserable and unpleasant. So when I received another package notification I cringed and actually decided to wait for my post office parents to return from South Africa in hopes that they would pick up my packages for me. My curiosity and my general get it done myself attitude won out and I ventured into town as the very picture of Jeanette, my post office mother. I was oozing with goodwill, sugary smiles and generosity. I called each employee by name and I spoutedTwi. I gave them toffees and little gifts for their children (everyone has children). As a result of my selfish generosity I gained two packages full of goodies whose taxes cost a fraction of the taxes of the first post office trip. I walked away from the smiling employees in a wonderful mood. There is no question that I played the system or sucked up but I have to say that approaching the whole ordeal in a positive manner was much more effective then frowning and complaining about the fees. Thank you to my post office parents and Auntie Teri for showing me how to interact and react with/to Ghanaians in a positive rather than a negative manner.
My last week was a flurry of activity; developing pictures, meeting friends for final goodbyes and spending every spare moment at the school or orphanage. I realized at that point that I had made somefriends that I really didn't care to say goodbye to. It was the friends that eventually brought me to the bright side, as it were, and made my time memorable, enjoyable and a learning experience. For the first month, I was miserable and I seriously considered going home early. As I reflect upon the feelings I had during that time, I realize that they were a complex mixture of culture shock, heat shock,and isolation. While I had Cynthia to commiserate with about the dismal tree planting affair, the heat and the vast cultural differences and my host brother to escort me and get my feet under me, I was feeling trapped in a hole of cultural isolation. It wasn't that I wasn't accepted or even welcomed. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I was met with enthusiasm on all sides and people eager to talk about the US. However, I didn't blend in, and that is what I wanted most of all; I wanted to experience Ghana as a Ghanaian does, not as a sensationalized Obruni.
Gloria, the teachers and the children at Tuskegee International Schoolshared themselves and their culture with me. At TIS, I wasn't ananomaly for long and the kids and teachers, after their initial awe (Iwas the first white person many of them had ever seen including television and pictures), relaxed into their normal behaviors and routines. At the school, I think I was able to interact with them as a person and not a "mystical" American. Gloria and I fascinated each other and she delighted in teaching me about her Ghanaian culture. We spent countless hours in the shade of a lime tree exchanging ideas and describing our customs and traditions. She taught me Twi and explainedthe traditions surrounding marriage, child birth and rearing, politics and sexism. We delighted in comparing our cultures and picking out the similarities and their gaping differences. The children, too, sharedtheir games, songs and dances with me. I'll never forget our feet sending up clouds of powdery red earth up around our ankles as we giggled and played Ampe in the school yard or their hysterical laughter as they watched me "shaky shake my body."
The last day at the school was a crazy and I was pulled in every direction. A photographer took pictures of me with each class and then all the teachers. I was trying to teach class 1 how to write andillustrate their pen pal messages and I was teaching class 2 how to weave with construction paper. I never knew that writing a simple ten line letter could be so excruciating and time consuming. I really didn't help matters by telling the kids to put bus stops at the end of their sentences instead of full stops (their word for period). Emmanuel, the poor kid, desperately drew Xs at the end of each sentence and looked at me with wide eyes for approval. I was frustrated and growled "no, bus stop, bus stop, mark a bus stop here."I finally realized that I was saying the wrong word and futilely tried to explain to these kids who are afraid to speak up when they don't understand that teacher is not always right and they should say something if they are confused or the teacher is wrong. I don't think they will remember my message for long but I did get them to laugh.
The American pen pals sent Montana post cards and stickers. The kids were fascinated by the pictures and rightly so. They have never seen stickers much less snow capped mountains, conifer trees or wild bitterroots. They kissed the post cards and waved them around in the air, such joy from such a simple thing. I was whisked into the nursery for a surprise goodbye ceremony. The older kids performed a traditional dance and Auntie Josephina formally thanked me and adorned me with a Kent ceremonial scarf with my name embroidered on it in gold thread. They also gave me a corn husk basket with a tailored batik tie dress, a carving of a figure thinking (so that when I looked at it, I would think of them) and a wooden penholder in the shape of Ghana inside. I had a parallel experience at the orphanage in that I was able to assimilate myself into their community. Though it seems funny to be excited about this, they sometimes even ignored me or left me by myself. There were kids of all ages at the orphanage and while I spent a good deal of time playing with the 3-14 year olds, I "hung out" withpeople of my own age like Fatima, Agnes, Doreen, Aaron, Ricardo, Joe, Emmanuel and Jewel. This was very valuable to me from both a cultural and emotional perspective. It's amazing how desperately a human feels like they need to fit in and/or be accepted. As a more often than not loner, I was surprised at how relieving and comforting it was to have kids my age to laugh, chat and confide with.
One evening my friend Joe was walking me home and I told him how much I wished I had a white person to talk to. Cynthia had left a month ago and I really wanted to dissect my feelings and observations oncultural differences. I liken this feeling to when you are in agood/bad stressful situation. When you are alone, your perspective is warped and internalized. However, if you are with friends, the gravity you are able to joke and make light of the situation. In addition, you can say "remember when" ten years down the road and laugh about it. Anyway, Joe was perplexed and I futilely tried to describe some of the more obvious differences like temperature, sun rise and sun set times, the info structure (or lack there of), poverty, food, school system and transportation system. Hell, even the moon is sideways in Ghana. There are more fascinating and amazing differences to point out than negative ones.
In many cases, the differences are so subtle. It's like Plato's theory of forms and the subsequent perversions of said form in each earthly medium. For example, the perfect form of a chair exists in the eternal ether. The carpenter constructs a chair based on his vision of the eternal one and then the artist paints the chair as he interprets it from the carpenter's. So there is the eternal chair and then there is a Ghanaian chair and an American chair. Both chairs are made for sitting in, made from the same materials and even look the same but they are still interpretations of the eternal. They are inherently different just like the physical chair is inherently different from the painted chair. I guess I could use transportation as a better example. Both USA and Ghanaian transport get you to the final destination, if you know how to work the system, but the method is so different. Ghanaians go by tro-tro or shared cab whereas Americans goby bus or taxi. Both are perversions of the eternal transportation system in the ether. The same is true for cuisine, English language, manners, washing clothes, retail, music…etc. Joe was genuinely sympathetic in a non understanding way and encouraged me to exclaim to him like he did understand. So I went off for at least a half hour, marveling, complaining, declaring, questioning and generally creating a monologue of a whole list of things that were different and amazing to me. Joe laughed and listened and I was purged.
Saying goodbye to the kids at the orphanage was perhaps the most poignant and sudden farewell of all. Instead of talking about my leaving and saying goodbye over a period of time, goodbyes occurred all in a flurry. They sang "thank you and goodbye from the kids at the orphanage" at evening prayers. I gazed at their faces as they sang and realized how small my impact on them had been compared to their impacton me. I managed to hold back my tears as they sang but when they dog piled me, arms encircling every part of my body and faces smiling, I just couldn't keep my tears in anymore. They laughed at my tears and hugged me tighter, pulling me to the ground and sobbing fake tears. I hugged Emmanuel so long that I thought that my arms were going to break and Eben clung to my legs. As I hugged each child good bye individually, Abraham decided to give me a kiss on the cheek. All of my boys followed suit and some even lined up for seconds. I swear there is a little smear mark still on my cheek where they each kissed me. *tear* They are too young to realize or really care that they will never see me again and just as quickly as they surrounded me with their love, they scattered to do their homework and respective chores.
As I sat on the courtyard bench underneath the sideways moon, I thought about how easy it is love and what an amazing impact their love had on me. Granted, life doesn't start and stop with every volunteer that comes and goes at the orphanage and the kids' memory of me will fade into a blur but I do hope that they remember deep down that they were loved and played with and read to. I, on the otherhand, will never forget my kids, their smiles or that Christmas Eve, full moon glowing, choir voices ringing in the humid stillness, when my boys crowded around me and called me mommy, small words to them but big words to me. I am amazed at how much I attached myself to these boys and how they attached themselves to me. Suddenly it was cleart hat life is sharing not consuming and criticizing. Humanity had a purpose and being at the orphanage was all I cared about.
We arm wrestled, read, roller bladed, played football, basketball and tag, wrestled, had thumb wars, tickle fests, spelling bees, hangman games and human acrobatics. They taught me to play Ampe and I taught them to twitch their fingers by probing tendons in their arms. They taught me how to swallow fufu without chewing and I taught them the Itsy Bitsy Spider. They read to me and I brought them toffees. They taught me how to drum and I taught them how to whistle and hum at the same time. They taught me how to eat with my fingers and I taught them how to make it look like their thumbs were cut in two pieces, how to do back bends, dance with chicken legs, make monkey noises, swing dance. They taught me playground songs and I taught them how to do secret handshakes…silly things, we exchanged… but that is all I have to supplement my pictures of them… memories and the things they taught me.
I am and will forever be changed by my kids and at this juncture I can't say how I will act on what I have learned but I am finding connections in America to Africa that I never knew existed. My friend Zach, who has been volunteering in India for the past couple of months, compared his assimilation of his experience to that of the art of photography. It's a process, setting up a picture, snapping the photo, developing the negatives by soaking them in chemicals and waterand hanging them out to dry. Who knows if the contrast will turn outor if the pictures will be centered? I think my pictures are still in the darkness of their film canisters. I can say that I have a renewed appreciation for many of things that I took for granted before. I have never been so delighted to have goose bumps, go for a run or chat freely with my friends face to face and on the telephone.
Today while I as running to Volunteer Park in the chilled breeze withthe clear sun in my eyes, I realized how wonderful it was to be free, free to run, free to open my eyes in the sun's glare, free to stretchin the park and drink in the ocean, skyline and green, green grass. I am free to soar down the pavement on my bike, wind in my face and time on my side, free to sit in a café, undisturbed and write away the day, free to leisurely browse the internet or dance to blaring music in my living room, free to cook dinner, turn on the light in the kitchen inthe middle of the night, and visit friends. I am free to make phonecalls, drop in on friends and family and be the one to approach new friends. The world is amazing and the diversity of my own world is amazing.
I am so lucky to have choices and my future at my fingertips. I am free to be myself and strive to stand out in the middle of acrown. It's amazing how normal my blue hair and bright green Converse shoes are in the middle of Seattle's freak scene. I am reveling in it. I love every shiver, every shower, hug, glass of water from the tap, every phone call and email and minute spent alone and unnoticed in a sea of white, black and brown.
(I do want to say that I'm sure that if I spent enough time in Ghana or even made it my home, I would find a way to make these freedoms that I currently enjoy in America a reality in Ghana. By the time I left, I could imagine and even wanted to live in Ghana for a longer period of time…still do. But it would be after I visit and explore more cultures. After all there are bikes in Ghana and green grass and air conditions and kitchens and radios; I don't know…it's that film coming out of the canister :) )
So how was Ghana? Ghana was a rollercoaster of emotions, a pallet o fcolors and tastes and smells and senses, a spectrum of poverty and guilt and struggle. It was an eye opener, an experience and collision of worlds. It was a dream come true, a goal accomplished and a personal battle won. It was hot, humid and uncomfortable. It was a lesson in humility, generosity, compassion and my own selfishness. I feel like I am being cliché but I desperately hope that I will takewhat I learned about my culture and the culture of the world and apply it to my life everyday, whether it's pausing to admire the beautiful blue sky like my host father or participating in random acts of generosity and kindness like my post office parents or sending metal pencil sharpeners to the kids at TIS.
I will never be able to thank my Ghanaian friends enough for their love and for sharing themselves sototally on so many levels. But Cecilia, Amanor, Dan, Eddie, Laud,Ishmael, Cynthia, Kingsley, Charity, Mary, Precious, Marin, Darrin, Prosper, Lily, Gloria, Charles, Clinton, Millicent, Linda, Josephine, Justina, Yaw, Bufa, Pearl, Christina, Veronica, Lisa, Teri, Baba, Florence, Evelyn, Oba Yaa, Emmanuel, Phyllis, Peace, Comfort, Mary, Bra Joe, Yaa, Eben, Joseph, Ricardo, Jewel, Baba, Doreen, Fatima, Agnes, Abraham, Selasie, Katdyatu, Prince, Kwasie Nanna, Mommy Essy, Stella, Gloria, Abinchee, Victoria, Grace, Bena, Peter, King, Adua, Esther, Rose, Patience, Abraham, Carlton, Caleb, Stella, Gifted, Lydia, Abigail, Pamela, Portia, Christina, Aaron, Moses, Daniel,Godwin, Musah, Sadik, Sena, Felix, Bafa, Archibald, Christopher, Frank, Junior, Zion, Lover, Bless, Belida, Angela, Beatrice, Anita, Michael, Amadu, Benedicta, Jeanette, Charles, Ben, Priscilla, Berther, Isaac, Mercy, Florence, Esther, Monica, Rookie, Adzo, Kwamie…you are amazing. Even though we will never physically meet again, I will hold you in my heart always.
