To write or not to write?

About half an hour ago, I wanted to write. I wanted to actually keep up a consistent blog about the multitude of my miscellaneous musings (maybe even including my love for alliteration...). Then I took my dog for a short walk around the block and lost most of that desire. I'm not sure what it was that drove it from me--maybe the fresh air helped clear my head of the absurd ambition, or maybe rolling my eyes and cringing at the way Winston yelps the entire time squelched my inspiration.

I don't quite know anymore. I don't want to start and not keep up with it--I'd just end up not writing any more than I do now, but feeling like a loser because of it. If I don't, though, I might wonder what could've come of it.

Thoughts?

Too much talking leads to a cluttered mind and a need to listen

Last week Friday, a week and a half ago, I returned from my missions trip to Mexico. I excitedly rambled about all my adventures to my grandparents, who picked me up from the airport. The following day, I had dinner with my other grandparents, whom I proceeded to tell about the trip. The day after that, Sunday, I met a friend at Panera and shared all my stories with her. When I finally came home, my parents wanted to hear about it. Wednesday night at church, several individuals approached me, asking how Mexico was. On Thursday, my third set of grandparents came to visit, and, at their request, I informed them of everything that happened. Friday, I talked via Skype to another friend about it. Yesterday, I gave a presentation during my church service of all that I did and learned. Today, I wrote thank you letters to all who supported me, narrating the many highlights of the trip.

I loved Mexico, but I am so tired of talking. Not just talking about my trip, but talking in general. I like talking--I do a lot of my processing verbally and I like telling stories--but I love listening. It's been a long time since I've just listened to someone else without having a discussion or contributing words of my own. I'm sick of hearing my voice (both out loud and in my head). I'm ready to hear someone else for once. I don't mean listening to music or a sermon, watching a movie, or reading a book. I'd like someone to talk to me. I want to get to know another person, hear their stories, understand their life.  

According to Rebecca West, an Irish critic, journalist, and novelist, "There [is] a definite process by which one makes people into friends, and it involve[s] talking to them and listening to them for hours at a time." I've done the talking. Now it's someone else's turn. 

Oh Mexico, how I miss you

Things I miss about Mexico:

-Speaking Spanish
-The best team ever
-Laughing hysterically many times per day
-Fantastic car rides
-Amazing food
-Sun and warmth
-My host family
-Z11s
-Sleeping in hammocks aka hamacas
-Daily conversations about who has pooped and who hasn't
-Great music
-Liturgical prayers
-Reflection times
-Rooming with Aleka
-Speed bumps
-Lizards
-Packed yet relaxed schedules
-Constant learning
-All the people from La Iglesia Bethel, especially Israel and Itsel, and also Victor
-Waking up early and journaling at the church
-Late-night futbol and voleibol games
-Singing
-Writing hate notes to team members
-Learning about the justice issues of Mexico
-Playing with kids
-Sharing and discussing what I'm learning with people who are experiencing the same things alongside of me
-Team games like Dixit, trivia, and Psychiatrist
-Being outside for most of the day
-Jordan's quotes
-Aleka's laugh
-Eric's sarcasm
-Banashak's wisdom
-Yolanda's songs
-Ben's excitement
-Chelsea's blonde moments
-Nikki's peace
-Josiah's insight

Things I love about being home:

-My coffee
-Wearing pajama pants
-Family
-Clean bathrooms
-Toilets that can handle flushing toilet paper
-Showers with normal water pressue
-The ability to communicate fluently with the people I'm living with

...And that's about it.

Can we please go back to Mexico?

Chinese poetry without the Chinese

I just finished the very last class of my sophomore year of college. Oh my goodness. The class was Humanities Seminar, in which we've spent the last two weeks reading Kenneth Rexroth's English translations of ancient Chinese poetry. It's really quite fascinating. It abounds with themes of seasons, changing, nature, sense of loss, longing, acceptance, darkness and light, all with an overarching sense of tranquility.

Assignment of the day: We had half an hour. We had to go outside and write our best imitation of the Chinese poetry in keeping with the themes and tones.

I wrote poetry. After Creative Writing my freshman year of high school, I vowed never to do so again of my own accord, unless it was intended merely in jest. Though I winced at the thought of this task, it ended up being almost cathartic. Here's what I came up with. It's a bit melodramatic, just as I perceive most poetry, but oh well.

Seemingly overnight dark red leaves
Sprung from bear branches outside my
Window, the window that provides
A glance into my home that has
Become so dear. The eviction is inevitable,
Mutually agreed, but still seems so cruel.
Within a week, everyone will flee,
Rejoicing, welcoming the escape from a
Place they claim to love. But I will climb
The sheltering limbs of the tree
Outside my window, and stop,
And respectfully mourn the death that comes
In this beautiful season of new life.

It's no masterpiece, but having read the poems in the book for class, I was able to replicate the general style and feeling. What's most important is the sense of accomplishment.

Why not Bob Jones?

I forgot to share a funny story from last night!

My church doesn't have a Good Friday service, so my family drove up to Wisconsin and went to the service at the church we attended when we lived there. Like my church now, it's Baptist and extremely conservative. The only difference is that my church now is tiny, and everyone is well aware of the fact that no one else is as conservative as them. My old church has over a thousand people--not enormous, but enough for them all to affirm each other in their conservativeness and never even consider more "liberal" possibilities.

Before the service started, we were talking with this darling old man who used to give all the kids candy when I was little. He asked where I was attending school. Though most would consider my school pretty conservative, he apparently didn't agree. He gave me this absolutely bewildered look and said, "Not Maranatha or Bob Jones?" I said no and proceeded to justify my reasoning with pathetic things like, "Well my grandparents live really close to this school..." Even after my lame explanations, he shook his head, still appearing utterly confused, and definitively stated, "But a pretty girl like you should be at Maranatha or Bob Jones!"

I just gave him a grim smile and tried my hardest not to laugh.

This is my life?!

Fashion...is not really my thing. I try to dress nicely. When I worked at Bakers, I really tried to be stylish. I will admit, few things are more empowering than being well-dressed and looking great at 5'11" in stilettos and being able to walk in them flawlessly. My time in the fashion world was short-lived, though. I'm much more of a flat boots and flannel shirt person. Although the ever-changing obnoxious world of trends is not for me, I have a secret love for reading fashion magazines because they bring out the tiny bit of creativity in me. That's why I'm writing. It probably won't be any good, but that's okay.

On the drive home from school today, I was thinking about my life. It's the beginning of April. The next month will be crazy with lots of schoolwork. The first week in May will be finals, packing, and moving out. Who even knows what the second week will be...just me wandering about enjoying seeing my grandparents (and hopefully friends, too) and having no homework. The third week in May will be spent on a missions trip to Mexico with a completely awesome group of people. The fourth week in May will be back home and working for Kraft. All of June will be work...and hopefully a good amount of it. A lot, so that I can actually make money, but not too much where I'm so exhausted that, like one night at the beginning of July last year, I literally go to bed at 7 because I have no desire to do anything except sleep. The first week in July will be work. July 8th, I start teaching English back at school! For five weeks, I'll be teaching Brazilian and Japanese students. I don't have an itinerary for the Japanese yet, but Brazil sent their the other day. Can I just say...it's going to be awesome! There's only an average of 2 1/2 hours of classroom teaching each day, then the rest of the time will be spent going to baseball games, going to the beach, going to the zoo, going to Cedar Point, going to Mackinaw Island, going to Chicago...and they pay for the teachers to do all these activities with them! I'm essentially getting paid to hang out and do fun activities with Brazilian students. How cool is that? That's through July 26 (I think), then the Japanese come. After they leave on August 11, I have about four weeks of "nothing." I'm sure they'll be crazy busy, though, because the first week in September, I leave for Ireland for thee months! Oh my goodness. Then, early to mid-December, I come back, go through Christmas craziness, and return to school.

I came to the conclusion that my life is ridiculous. Nothing about this is normal. For most college students, life right now is finishing school for this semester, working over the summer, then going back to school in the fall to resume everything as it was this year, just perhaps with different classes and living situations. Nothing too out of the ordinary. But me, I've got school, Mexico, work, teaching, and Ireland. I'll have been in three countries (including the U.S.) in the next six months, and probably even more by the end of the year...and I'll have lived in two of them. I'm totally looking forward to this, but it's kind of scary. It's an adventure, for sure, and adventures scare me.

This morning, I was supposed to play racquetball. Upon finding out that the gym was closed for the weekend, I decided to take advantage of the incredible weather. I walked around the campus pond a few times, then retreated to my new favorite place--a particular willow tree that hovers over the home of some small, furry creature. It's the perfect tree to sit in. It has four large branches (large being about a foot and a half in diameter) growing out of its main trunk. I think there used to be two more, but for some reason, someone thought they were bad and cut them off. Now, there are two stump-like things right around where the branches split off from the trunk, and they're perfect for sitting. There's nothing worse than having to awkwardly straddle a branch to stay in a tree. So I sat up there for a while and I talked to God about what it means to trust him and how I often have a hard time with it. Later, when I was driving home and contemplating the rest of my year and how much will be changing as a result of all my plans, God just kind of jumped in mid-thought and said, "...but I'll still be there. I'm the one thing that'll be consistent the whole time." I really liked that. For some reason, he suddenly seems so much more tangible. I've joked with my friends about hiding them in my suitcase and bringing them with me, but with God that can actually happen, and I don't have to worry about paying extra for the luggage being too heavy.

So I guess from here on out, it's Jesus and me on one crazy adventure...just pray that I don't forget he's there.

I love playing racquetball. It's the one and only time (aside form being in a very deep sleep) that I'm not thinking about twenty-seven things at once. It's mentally relaxing.