if walls could speak

as i was growing up i had this mantra that i muttered to myself, under my breath or in my head, angrily and sadly and defeatingly repeating each part as I slammed a basketball against the backboard at our old house, nervously and agitatedly and lostly as i cried in my room and scratched at the center of my palms. it went something like this:

i am stupid.
i am bad.
i am ugly.
i am fat.
i am worthless.

i am stupid.
i am bad.
i am ugly.
i am fat.
i am worthless.

over and over again, drilling, boring, burrowing, burning pathways and nestling in and laying eggs, clawing away and planting seeds of sorrow and despair that sowed a sickness in me that reaches and rests so, so deep in my being.

but recently i acquired a machete.

timidly i have begun whacking at these plants that have grown, invasively and menacingly strangling my spirit, sucking out my essence. but their roots twist deep, you know. and so i have become stronger, chopping harder, but i have yet to really hack away. i'm moving towards that place, though.

as i wrote, i have been cleaning out my room. as i expressed, this room is so potently pregnant with memories, yes, it has bore witness to the depths of the flow of my life. it contains it all. my dear, wise friend captured it, saying - as if the walls hold all the past screams of arguments, tears of desperation, whispers of insanity. and this is all a very intentinoal process of cleaning, cleansing. i have been burning sage to both welcome and carry away all that is still heavy, here. and as i paint these walls i give this space a new face, bury what these walls have seen and heard and still feel under a fresh coat of paint, or rather build upon them to reach a new, higher level of being. i am reclaiming these walls, this space, determining it to be my own, and in being my own being a welcoming, supportive space of love for all.

and so, as i first started painting, doing the trim work i paused. then in long, flowing strokes, the wall, the paintbrush, the paint, and my hand came together. one wall now bears a large flower and reads I AM BEAUTIFUL! another now holds a heart with rays bursting forth and declares ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE.

within a couple of days these walls will be painted over. and within a week this room will be rearranged and put into a state of array, of repair, of wholeness and of love. really, truly. yes. for, forever onwards if you are to ask these walls they will scoop you up and hug you, hold you tight. they will whisper in your ear the sadness that will always echo and resound. then they will stroke your cheek, tenderly, kiss your forehead, warmly, smile, fully, and joyously say - i am beautiful! all you need is love.

Where I'm at Now...

Well, certainly not more clarity than before. I wish that my head would stop clink clink clanking. I wish that everything would make sense.

By the time I was rumbling rambles of rumination I feel like I reached a point of preachy self-righteousness. Then I read a quote that a friend of mine shared: "What if instead of judging you I had the courage to see myself in you. What if I had the courage to admit that that could me. What if I could love us through it..." And that made me stop and think. A lot... clink clink clanketty clinky clinkers clinketty click clock cluck claaaaank...

It made me think about the power of love. And compassion and understanding, but really love. To affect change, to create peace. It made me reflect on myself and my actions. Besides the fact that I don't really know who or what I am anymore - my ego and sense of self have effectively been destroyed along this journey - it made me reflect on my words, and a certain anger and bitterness in them as I create a separation between myself and others. Really we're all the same. What am I angry about? Why am I bitter? Can I purge this nasty snake from within me? How can I be happy? How can I emanate love?

And as an antithesis to Harvard there's Gaia University. A self-directed action learning program based on restorative ecological and social justice. It's basically what I believe and want to do with my life. I feel it so deeply. And I feel it gives me the potential to truly blossom. But for some reason I can't let go. Not yet. And who knows, maybe never. And that thought clenches my chest. Tight. Chokes. But there's a life that I could have if I return to Harvard that also excites me, in a different way.

I don't know.

All I'm sure of is that there's something more. All I'm sure of is that a revolution is coming, or maybe it's already here, rumbling, grumbling quietly, faintly, arms stretching, big yawning, eyes opening, slowly, taking its time to really WHAMBO SLAM COME TO LIFE!!!

Where I've Been...

As my time away from college has continued so has my growth, transformation, and self-liberation. Upon leaving Harvard I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that I was withering and I had to leave. It was scary to actually stop and not only listen to my truth, for I heard it all along, but to actually follow it. Nine months later I feel myself beginning to bloom, coming to life, reborn, but I'm still not sure what's coming next.

And it's true, I feel like a vastly different person today from when I left Harvard. An awakening of sorts, something in me has been stirred. A consciousness and awareness. I suppose if I had to give it a name I'd call it spiritual. And sometimes I feel like I'm crazy, bonkers, totally off my rocker. And sometimes I feel like it's the most beautiful, true, passionate, deep, loving thing I've ever known. Usually I'm confused, torn, thrashing around somewhere in-between the two trying to understand which it is. And maybe they both are, I don't know.

But recently I've been compelled to write.... here's where I've been...

Reflections from 10/30/09
10/30/09

The title says it all. I was on College heading to Yasai market for a cucumber, some persimmons and cherry tomatoes. Along the way I was compelled to whip out my journal and write. I feel so strongly about this that I'd like to share it with you. Yeah, yeah, I know this is facebook, but thank you for your love, your support, and daring me to fly.

Come to the Edge by Christopher Logue (stumbled upon in a book of Gabe's, slightly altered by me)

Come to the edge, you said.
I might fall.
Come to the edge, you repeated.
It’s too high!
COME TO THE EDGE!

And I came,
and you pushed,
and I flew.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaSMROk-D-A&feature=related

****

Let me here speak of the beautiful absurdities of life:

To rebuild from the ground up is a strong and powerful experience. The depths of the lows are so cavernously cold and dank and dark. The life essence has so seemingly been sucked out that not even mold has space to digest and decompose the lingering breath of anything once alive. Down there exists nothing except a gaping emptiness somehow brimming over with loneliness and despair. Gray and dead, with the skeletons of souls scattered and thrown astray. And when you're there, you're stuck. There is no such thing as light or a smile, all things good cease to exist beyond the memory of your imagination, if even that. It is the hollowed eyes of hopelessness that the ancestors of sadness have carved into your face, through which one can only see nothing. Not even bitterness or anger are present.

And holding on is the hardest, must excruciating experience - physically, mentally, and emotionally, for there is nothing there for your hands to grasp, and besides, everything is pointless anyhow. Why not just end it now?

Perhaps it's just fear that has prevented me from ever truly damaging and bringing harm to myself, in the physically tangible sense. But if it's only fear, then it is partly a fear of foregoing the freedom that is to come if I can just hold on, just a little while longer, for an instant release. In that fear still flutters something, softly, quietly, but there it flaps, its wings gently caressing the dangerously jagged edges of this dark place, reminding - hush, darling, breathe, everything will be all right. It is a remembrance, it is the echo of something ancient that still finds words and speaks today, as it always has, and as it always will. It transcends us in its intimacy with the cosmos and all that is beyond, and it is us, within us, understands us and all, for all is us, we are all it, and there is nothing but it.

So then, what is life and death? Why hold on? Well, for days like today, and for weeks like this one, following summers like this past one. And everything was always moving to this point, all of my life's experiences were precipitating the dark space I visited this past summer, and then the beautiful day I had today, which followed an equally wonderful week. So it is that when you view everything with scope and perspective that you are able to realize and appreciate the profundity of life's beauty and absurdity. Nicole first arrived as a reminder, a soul sister, a godsend, an angel, an ooooold friend returning to each others' sides. There is Gabriel - while our paths have crossed before I don't beleive we've ever stopped to chat, for his journey has taken a far different route. I have already learned so much from him. Joolian and Raphi, I love you each respectively for many things, but right now mostly thank you for standing out and helping me stand out. And today I made music and ate good food with Ashkon, and we saw Peter, our camper from Monkey Biz who was also at Mosaic. As I was walking down College I saw Dylan, another camper from Monkey Biz, eating with her mom. And then I was sitting and thinking Vince drove by and I heard my name and saw his hipster plaided arm waving from the window of the minivan. These friends of mine are everywhere. I believe that today they were speaking to me, and smiling, saying - Welcome back, to the land of living. I have made my ascent, and life is good.

****

And here a disclaimer: I recognize that there are various contradictions in these words, perhaps falsehoods, or maybe a better word is misnomers. I also recognize that these words open up various other doors and pathways of words, but those were not for me to open in my ruminating reminiscent reflections in my journal today. I promise they are fleeting about, floating around in my head, though. I FULLY recognize the absurdity of that one sentence, I know you know which one. Finally, I recognize that I have only just begun my ascent. Please appreciate these words as they are.

and by opening up other doors and pathways i do mean that some of these things are much more complex and layered than they are presented here.

and by please appreciate these words as they are i do not mean to prevent any discussion or dissent, but more to cut me slack and appreciate the fact that i know a lot but i know very little.


daylight savings fall 2009
11/1/09

i'm in a really funny mood right now. my life feels like a spider web of events. and right now specifically it feels like puzzle pieces sifting, shifting, moving around and falling into place with a satisfying click-connection sound. i'm cleaning my room, the room that has been "mine" since 7th grade when we moved around the corner to this house. we being my family, my mom, my dad, my brother, and me. and our dog Toby (who had originally been my gramma's dog, but then she moved up here from southern california to an old-person's home by the lake and toby came to live with us... and the car i drive used to be my gramma's), but after we moved we also got Chaz, and Toby's dead now.

anyway, this room and i have been having issues. something's been very off. i hate sleeping in here and never wake up fully rested because this room is so full, it's pregnant with memories and stories and, well, my life. i have amassed so much STUFF over the years - pictures and letters and trinkets - and even though i've done deep cleanings, rearranged furniture and gotten rid of shit, somehow lots of little THINGS have managed to stick around, these clumps in corners and piles in random drawers. and, you see, all of this stuff, this shit, these things, they are SOMETHING. they carry a weight, an energy, an essence, they have a sort of life and story to them. and, i don't know, it feels like they emanate little rays that you can't see, but if you could they'd be wavy and moving and colors like electric lime and magenta, very 80's, you know, and i emanate those little rays too, and our rays interact.

well, these rays are creating pressure in my back and a tension in my body. i'm off-balance. i burnt some sage, and that helped. breathing deeply also helps. which reminds me right now to breathe.

and right now i'm cleaning this room, organizing, throwing out, looking over, reflecting, breathing as i sit on the floor of this room surrounded by my life - my life in pictures, in cards, in drawings, in old notes, in 2nd grade assignments, in letters - to me and from me. and EVERYTHING has meaning and says something, the type of ink used, the handwriting, the clothing, the eyes, the hairstyles, the things being depicted, the level of resources used to make it (this is specifically for various types of fancy hallmark/papyrus cards i have) and how my body responds to that. not to mention the words. i feel like an anthropologist examining and excavating my own life. and it has been especially crazy paying attention to how my body feels after i read certain cards and reflect on the words or who the person was in my life, the meaning.

but it's just CRAZY to see my whole life in front of me, see these different versions of samra that i don't identify with at all. they feel like strangers. the cute little girl with missing front teeth in flowery dresses (at this age i wrote a letter to my mom for mother's day thanking her for being so nice and beautiful and buying me clothes and toys), the awkward chubby girl wearing washed out colors (at this age my dad was still sending me letters with cutesy, glittery fireflies and ladybugs on the cover while i was at camp signing them "love, daddy" but crossing out the "y" and replacing it with an "a"), the makeup-laden pre-teen and teenager with shiny braces and bright, tight, little clothing (at this age ALL of my friends had to give me a birthday card declaring all of our inside jokes and how much they loved me, and definitely something about themselves, in curly letters and different colored markers, we all always had to for anyone's birthday), the sad-and-distant-looking youngwomangirllateteenager

with short hair in a prom dress (graduation cards are dignified, even if the "words of inspiration" are all jokey and have pictures of puppy dogs with diplomas in their teeth they still carry a serious message, and everyone wrote sort of serious sounding best wishes as i headed off to harvard), and the girl who i was 10 months ago when i left school and all of my roommates (technically blockmates at harvard, but i don't want to go into that whole explanation about harvard housing) gave me a giant card that sings wild thing and has a blown up picture of the 8 of us at my goodbye party that weekend.

and i kind of want to write a memoir or make a(n auto-?) documentary. but then those voices tell me that i'm being selfish and egotistical. and then there's this issue that i'm cleaning and encountering all of these THINGS that make these fucking piles, the letters and cards and pictures, you know, and they tell this story of my life. and it's beautiful. it's a moving experience. but i'm cleaning. and now i don't want to get rid of them, i want to keep all of this STUFF. so i've ben asking myself a lot of questions, this whole time lots of questions, and now it's that if i keep it all will it really be not moving on or letting go? if i don't throw it away will it all still bump its fat belly against me? will it weigh me down? ...but let's say what if i did throw it away, then what, would i be forgetting, and besides it's so beautiful and powerful, and why is it so bad to hold on to these things, just as reminders? just so that i continue to look inward, at myself, at all of these different versions of myself, hold them all and recognize them all and really see them all, because even if they don't look familiar or sound familiar or seem and act like me, i was never anyone else, i am not anyone else, and i will never be anyone else.

the clocks turned back again. time keeps going. another thanksgiving is coming.


Rambling Rumbles of Rumination
11/4/09

an excerpt from (or really most of) an email to my friend adrienne

but first a few explanations:

padame = pan-african dance and music ensemble - african dance and drumming
femsex = a student-led program on female sexuality offered through the women's center - i started during the spring of my freshman year but wasn't ready for that yet. adrienne was one of the students leading the program.
outing club = an outdoors club offering hikes, camping trips, etc. for the harvard community. they also rent out gear, from socks to tents to snowshoes.
fup = freshman urban program - a preorientation program for harvard freshman on social justice and diversity

***

my here has been... rapidly expanding. as my journey of self-liberation opens and unfolds i find myself, my being, thrashed around between sensations of glowing fullness and tight, tense, clenching soreness. letting go and letting in can be really painful. i am increasingly spiritual and loving of myself. i am becoming whole and, somewhat frequently now, feeling shards of myself come and click back together. exploring ideas of polyamory and beginning to truly accept, understand, and celebrate myself as a sexual being in whatever form that takes. and amidst all of this comes a loooooooot of thought regarding the perilously unsustainable state of western culture - values, ideas, use of resources... basically overall intention in regards to how we treat ourselves, others, and the earth. and amidst all of THIS comes a lot of thought regarding harvard - what it represents and how it ties into these maladies, to be honest, mostly negatively, i haven't given the positives much thought. but perhaps that's because the negatives are so powerful and important.

now i find myself stuck, though. part of me really does want to go back - there are classes that i want to take, people i want to connect with, i wanna do padame* and femsex* (now that i'm ready!) (is that still happening?), i wanna live in the coop, i wanna join the outing club* and be a fup leader*, and in that i feel so much vibrancy and excitement!

.....but i also feel something dark and smelly and rotten about it. i know that there's much more to life than the "traditional" (not to generalize) path of, and aaaaall that is vested in being a harvard student. i'm fairly confident that i can then be a not-harvard-student harvard student, simply by intentionally cultivating consciousness in my life and my actions and being aware and open and honest. but, do i want to do that? or do i really want to listen to those wild flutterings in my chest that want me to learn about permaculture and organic farming and sustainable buildings and energy resources and traditional herbal plant medicines and non-violent communication and co-counseling and meditation and guerrilla art and gardening and other beautifully self-expressive forms of art and creativity and dance and movement and COOKING! and storytelling and generally cultivating peace in all of my interactions and learning how to create a more peaceful world. and so, yes, i could return to harvard and probably fall into a very (self-)fulfilling life. i could get that !!!HARVARD!!!! degree to change the world, except what an oxymoron is that?! continue to put power and meaning into this elite institution, continue to rely on a harvard degree because it "means so much" and "opens doors" and, essentially, would allow me to get funding for whatever projects - how does THAT change the world? if anything all it does is keep things exactly the same. sure, less than 100 years ago i, as a woman of color, could by no means have had the opportunity to be at harvard that i do now, but the underlying, basic issue of WEALTH, PRIVILEGE and POWER still remains... ok, so maybe it allows me to change the world veeerrrryyyyy sloooowwwwllllyyyyy, because, yes, the world has changed and you every action has infinite possibilities, and every action is meaningful, and social workers and civil rights lawyers work tirelessly to change the world, and their work is incredibly important. but i remember hating it in 1st grade when we had to listen to other kids read because they were so fucking slow. well, this is kinda like that. the world needs a DRASTIC overhaul. our planet and our people are sick and ailing. and so, do i wanna go back to harvard and "work within the system to bring it down" but still really, truly, honestly be supporting and a part of that system, or do i wanna just... let..... go.......

this email is already far longer than i intended it to be, so i won't go into the depths of my contemplations on choices of fear and choices of freedom in my decision-making-process to go back to harvard - the security and safety of the path that i would have there... shit i already know everything i wanna do! but ultimately everything boils down to those two simple, powerful states of being: fear and freedom. how much of what i'm holding am i ready to let go of?

OK. So...

Sometimes I get really sad. So sad that nothing seems worth it. Everything's just... pointless. I feel disconnected and distant, aloof and unaware. I feel grey and I feel hollow and I feel empty. I do not believe in myself and I do not believe in anyone else. Maybe, sometimes, I'm not empty, I'm filled with a violent, uncontrollable anger, and I feel it in my body, I feel it pulsing inside of me when I slam my fists into my mattress, or I'm filled with a sadness so deep that it cripples me as it winds its way around my legs, aaalllllllllll the way down until it plants itself in my feet, heavy. And the world is a hard, harsh place. And it's just not worth it. And mostly it's a lonely place.

I need days like today to remember. Late-summer sunshine is poignant, warm. Music so good, mannnnn, he was tearing up that guitar, makin it cry, makin my heart cry, but in a good way. In a way that made me move, made me wanna get up and say thank you. All of these beautiful people out enjoying this beautiful day. Because the world is truly a beautiful place.

[untitled]

During my time off from school I have periodically been sending out email updates about my life, my experiences, my continued growth and enlightenment. I have excerpted some of them and posted them up here.

I've decided to stop my email updates and I'm currently debating whether or not I should instead post these would-be email updates to my blog or just keep them in a journal. They can get pretty personal is the thing. And as my dad will always remind me, this is a public blog, not a private journal. But it is so self-fulfilling (?) to think that I can have an audience (and a worldwide one at that!) to my rantings and ramblings. It makes me feel... seen, worthy, purposeful, appreciated, understood to know that someone, maybe, someday is reading my story and that it just might resonate with them, too.

Run, Running, Ran, Going

An email I sent to friends and family.

***

There were points when I seriously considered not running.

(More on that later).

I've been working at Monkey Business Camp again this summer and the past couple of weeks were super stressful as we had a drama and performing arts session. The play and variety show always require tons of work and energy, and are just generally exhausting. I think Tuesday of this past week I realized that the stress and anxiety just weren't worth it - I could only do what I could, and no it wouldn't be perfect, but my campers would still be fabulous. It's more important to enjoy the process than freak out about the goal. This is always hard for me to keep in perspective. It was, however, this same mentality that allowed me to decide to run the half. Just because I had originally decided to run the half-marathon out of this twisted need to set a challenge for myself didn't mean that I couldn't change my reasoning. SO many folks supported me through financial donations and words of support, which was nearly reason enough to run - not because I felt I "owed it" or was "obligated" to those of you who donated, I really wanted to avoid doing it because "I had to" because people donated and I didn't wanna let them down, but more the fact that the $1,716.68 I raised with my friends and family is almost 10% of the total funds raised for YouthRun4Fun through the San Francisco Marathon is really meaningful. I helped make a difference, but it was because I have a community, I have people in my life who are there to support me. And so I suppose it was more to honor that beautiful thing - anyway... it was this mentality shift that ultimately allowed me to run: I just decided that running wouldn't be a challenge, it wouldn't be a race, it wouldn't be something that I had to do. No, it would simply be a 13.1 mile run that I was going on.

And so Sunday morning I was a little nervous. Although I went to bed early the previous two nights I didn't sleep well. I pulled myself out of bed in the morning darkness (5:45, crazy, that means that summer is winding down, which is a whole 'nother issue I have). Laced up my shoes. Drove into the city with my cousin and her friend. Arrived too late for the shuttle bus and so took a cab to Golden Gate Park. Ten blocks and ten minutes away from our start line and start time we were stuck in traffic due to the full-marathon runners. 8:28, 2 minutes to start time, we finally gave up and ran to the start. Quick bathroom break, bag dropped at the bag drop, and into the flow of bodies, somewhere between 8 to 10 minutes late. But it didn't matter. I was just going for a run, remember? 6 overcast and winding miles through Golden Gate Park, a light mist on my shouldertops. Don't believe that's a word. Clanging cowbells and rockbands inspiring the thousands of runners. Cytomax, water, green portapotties. Play 25-minute meditation song from the "Relax" playlist on the Monkey Biz iPod. Finally ascend onto Haight. My favorite stretch of the run. Running as a mode of transportation, running as adventure, running as a different pace. Running with thousands of people, being cheered on by bystanders, as a form of exploring, seeing a city... and feeling like a rockstar. Fog has totally burnt off. Beautiful n sunny Sunday. Bicyclists blasting Bohemian Rhapsody, heh, it was epic when that came on during the 6-or-so-person funktastacious dance party the other night. Surroundings change as streets become Missippi, Missouri (one r? two rs?). Warehouses. Oh, that's where the Bottom of the Hill is - good to know for when I finally manage to go see a show there, after all it's all ages. Shorts chafing the soft inner thigh area. iPod. Hit water, the Embarcadero! Leaden legs and burning sensation from the chafing shorts. Man at aid station recommends that I smear vaseline on the chafed skin. It only causes my shorts to stick to my legs, and now the oil of the vaseline has darkened that area of my shorts so it looks like I peed myself. Last two miles. Can. Hardly. Move. Legs. Manage to jog like an old woman. Pacbell Park. Whoops, AT&T Park. .2 miles left! I can see the finish line! Faster. Passing fools right and left. FASTER! FAST!!! Speed through finish line. Immediately soak feet in ice.

So I did it! And you know what...? It was fun!

Thank you all so, so much for your support and inspiration. I couldn't have done it without you.

And the latest update on A Lost Soul Running Home?

Well, as I said, pre-mentality shift I was considering not running. It was too much. I couldn't do it. I hadn't been training enough. So I stepped back and looked at this trend of failing to performing, not living up to expectations, falling short, and realized these were effects (affects?) caused by a pressure I created: "Running a (1/2) marathon is a challenge akin to writing that A-paper (on a small scale) or the college process (on a larger scale), but it's a challenge that I am choosing to take on rather than a paper that has simply been assigned to me. It gives me a chance to push myself physically and even more so mentally." Why did I have to create a challenge? What was I trying to prove myself? I am not and never have been a runner so why was I trying to make myself one? My mom has often called me a perfectionist, but I'm not. While I do like things being executed fabulously and beautifully and I appreciate a job well done, the issue is more that I get stuck in a goal-oriented rut. So the play was stressing me out, and now its over. And my half was stressing me out, and now it's over, too. Done. Fin. Aaaand that's all folks. As soon as something's over it's really over, and that's why it doesn't matter that the oh-so-cliché saying "the journey is the destination" is oh-so-cliché. Cuz it's true. No more of this sadomasochistic $%@@!*&^, If you're not enjoying the process then crossing the finish line is not more worth it. It just means that it was more painful. At least in my world.

And I was kinda hoping that running the half would be, what's the word, cataclysmic, evolutionarily unfolding and birthing, simply releasing. I was kinda hoping that being 13.1 miles lighter would also mean world-heavy, shoulder-drooping, life-confusion lighter. I was kinda hoping that crossing the finish line would be akin to crossing this metaphorical barrier within myself. And I've known the whole time that that's a lot to expect and that it's not very likely. After all it was just a run, right? And so...?

The thing about being able to simply release is that I simply need to learn how to fully integrate.

...And maybe think about it a lil less. Remain aware but a lil less concerned. Let it all happen. Wu wei, baby. And the beautiful thing is that it is all happening. Things are different. I'm putting in major work and sometimes it's frustrating, sometimes I feel stagnant and stuck, but it's all paying off. I'm growing, making changes happen in my life, and that's a beautiful thing. So to make this whole thang neat and tidy: I may feel lost but I'm already home. I'm just running, skipping, dancing, smiling, leaping, sometimes crying, hopping, inching, whirling my way along.

And with that one more quote, from the great Sufi poet, Rumi:

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I will meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about
language, ideas, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense."


Onwards,
Samra

Did I Ever Mention...

...That I'm running a half-marathon? Yeahhh, I'm running the San Francisco half-marathon on July 26. My story, "A Lost Soul Running Home" from my fundraising page (I'm fundraising $1500 for the marathon's beneficiary, Youth Run4Fun, an inner-city youth running program. So far I've raised $1338! https://secure2.merchantcart.net/runsfm/MyWebPage.cfm?CFID=5576429&CFToken=e7d2489b5aa758f-82E17745-65B8-C82F-8B1462ECF16DBCAF):

A Lost Soul Running Home

Recently I have found myself in an existential-coming-of-age-life-crisis. What is my purpose? What are my passions? What is reality beyond what I believe to be real, and thus what is the point? These questions became most pertinent in the demanding, high-pressure setting of college life. I asked myself - Why write this paper that I am not inspired to write? There's a simple formula I can follow to write this paper, get an A (or at least almost), get a good grade in the class, graduate with honors, all so that I can get a job doing... what? What do I want to do with my life? Granted, I know I'm young and certainly too young to have the answers to the rest of my life - we're never quite old enough for that - but these questions left me quite without motivation. Needless to say, my grades this past semester (while not horrific) did not prove my potential, but rather all that I am capable of NOT doing. Not willing to waste everyone's time, LOTS of money, and a great opportunity (and a few more reasons) I decided to take a leave of absence. So now I'm home. To read about my wanderings and rantings you can check out my blog http://loveinvincible.blogspot.com. But on to the marathon... I was inspired to run a marathon by a family friend. A sophomore in high school, she just decided she would do it. I figured, hey, sounds like a good idea... I guess I'll run one too... ...Well, I mean, it's more than that. Running a (1/2) marathon is a challenge akin to writing that A-paper (on a small scale) or the college process (on a larger scale), but it's a challenge that I am choosing to take on rather than a paper that has simply been assigned to me. It gives me a chance to push myself physically and even more so mentally. It makes me happy and boosts my self-esteem as I see the progress that I am making. It gives me a clearly defined goal that I am working towards, which is a very stabilizing structure in my life of current uncertainty off "the beaten path." The direction and purpose of running, and the vibrancy of inspiration tingling in my head and lingering in my body as I push towards the finish line are so satisfying. As I head back to my car after a good run - curly hair blazing out around my flushed, red face, shaking out sore limbs and stretching tight calves, light dim with the decision of night and February mist - I never fail to find clarity and a profound feeling of being a little more settled.

*****

I wrote that around the beginning of March, after I first started training. This is the latest update from the training blog that I've been writing for the San Francisco Marathon Training Program:

The Race Approaches

And as it does I run on my own… I particularly haven’t been making the effort to go to training recently. I’ve been finding a lot of enjoyment in my runs, a very simple enjoyment. I don’t really realize that I’m running a half-marathon in a few weeks. I have not really wrapped my head around a “training” mindset, a pressured and directed mindset with a very specific goal in mind.

As I’ve run, when I’ve run, I’ve thought to myself, Running as a mode of transportation or, Running as a mode of adventure and observation (I’ve been running on trails and in new neighborhoods). With that mindset – running both as a way to move myself and to explore and enjoy my surroundings – the process of running has been much more enjoyable for me. I’m not racing, I have no particular goal or destination, the journey is the whole point. I am not training, I am simply roaming on my feet. Running allows me to discover and appreciate.

I like this mindset, it’s a way of living.

I’m not sure, however, how this will work out for me to actually run a half-marathon.

Cesaria Evora and a Foggy Day

Hmmm... And isn't the eternal question where to begin, for where is there ever a beginning or an end? Life, existence, reality, being, I believe it all to be a spiraling cycle through time, and my pain, my love, my experiences, they are not mine. My pain is an ancient, ancestral pain, one that has been passed down through generations. In the words of Brett Dennen and Lara Mendel, we are all interconnected, we're all intertwined, through all of history, through the web of time... And that's the TRUTH, Ruth. Thank you Samuel L. and Spike Lee. And that's some more interconnected shit right there, everyone trying to Do The Right Thing for themselves, not realizing that the right thing for themselves is the right thing for EVERYONE. All they did was spread the violence, the poison. Haha, I know at least a couple of people follow that.

All of that being said... I'm finally sitting down to write and I don't know where to start, so I guess I'll just start somewhere aroundabouts where I left off. MOSAIC. M is for mutual respect, don't put me down and don't hurt me. O is for openmindedness, see me for who I am and don't judge me. S is for self-respect and A is for attitude, you gotta love yourself and stay positive. I is for individuality and C is for community, when we come together in the places we live. Or maybe its we gotta come together. COME TOGETHA. riiiiiight now. ova me. Those are the Mosaic values, and they are certainly values to live by. There's so much to say about it, it's one of those things where so much happened that trying to somehow capture it with words seems so defeatingly meaningless. I guesssss to sum it up: amazing people, magical woods, beautiful children that SERIOUSLY exhaust you, peace is possible, glitter and bubbles and appreciation of weirdness or rather "individuality," mixing it up. Basically just everything good and true and whole and beautiful about the world buzzes around on the backs of the fairies that drift about in the magical mosaic woods and you see it all in the reflection of childrens' eyes. But don't get me wrong, that shit's HARD. It is a weeklong therapy session and a lot of these kids have been through.... fucking shit.... in only 9 or 10 years of living. And so they start off making your life hard, miserable, but you know that you've done something SO meaningful and profound, you've actually made a difference when you see those kids opening up, their shell cracking, you see that sparkle in their eyes, they hug you or hold your hand for the first time, cry when they say goodbye... And then you notice that you've changed and opened up and started sparkling. All of that positive energy and love and support washing over you fills you up and makes you stronger and you wanna pass that on. Because the world truly IS a beautiful place.

And after three weeks at Mosaic I had a profound personal breakthrough.

And then I left for France. I left for sunny days with Sam in the south of France, cobblestones and dresses, beautiful people and beautiful fruit and produce, fresh bread, small cars, accents, winding alleys with planters overflowing with blooming flowers, divine wine, adorable children, a crazy scooterer, 40-year-olds and soccer players for lovers, pubs with friendly bartenders, fountains, jellyfish stings, a night in the cheapest hotel in Cannes, train rides without tickets, the most amazing field carpeted with red poppies, the beautiful 10 place de albertas, making friends through conversations of broken French mixed with English and Spanish and hand motions, delicious food, and an overall splendid time for about a week. And then several days in Paris. If you're looking for a hostel in Paris I HIGHLY recommend staying in St. Christopher's Inn, it's super cool and nice as far as hostels go. For those few days on my own I literally just walked all over Paris. More rambling streets and beautiful people. Great metro system. But what I loved most about Paris was the art. There's art everywhere! Soooo many posters up for art expositions or music shows that are themselves pieces of art. So much tight graffiti and street art. And SO much music! From the old-timey group playing Sam Cooke outside of the Notre Dame, to the Bolivian and Peruvian guys playing indigenous, meditative flutes in the Metro station underground, to the FREE 3-day rock, pop, electro concert down the canal from my hostel, to the Mexican dude who started singing me love songs in Spanish on the Metro train, to the mirthfully girthful woman belting out French ballads accompanied by her accordian and friends over wine on a sunny Sunday afternoon, to the Norwegian bands Borko and Sin Fang Bous I saw perform at the sweet "center for artistic dynamics" Point Ephémère, to ALL of the posters for upcoming concerts... So Paris defines cool, but in many ways Paris also defines music.

And now I'm home. After a week of (sort of) relaxation I begin working at camp on Monday. I'm housesitting for most of the summer starting Wednesday, woohoooo! So now I transition into a totally new and different phase of life - work, living on my own, and training like crazy for my half-marathon on July 26. Speaking of which, I'm fundraising $1500 for the marathon's benficiary Youth Run4Fun, an inner-city youth running program. So far I've raised %88, just over $1300! But I still have just under $200 before I reach my goal and I would so appreciate any donation you could make. To donate go to my fundraising page: https://secure2.merchantcart.net/runsfm/MyWebPage.cfm?pID=375145&CFID=5576429&CFToken=e7d2489b5aa758f-82E17745-65B8-C82F-8B1462ECF16DBCAF

Make new friends and keep the old

Ummm, so I wanna talk about friends. And I wanna talk about pushing my comfort zone. Because the past week in particular I feel like I've really pushed my previous comfort zones and made new friends. There's a certain security and self-assurance, maybe even a strength, that I have found recently and that have allowed me confidence. There was a festival at People's Park in Berkeley last weekend celebrating its 40th Anniversary. After a lovely South Berkeley Sunday morning with a good friend visiting from school (he's from Berkeley) I headed to the park to check it out. While I had called up a couple of friends I ended up being there on my own. And I should say here that I have considered myself shy. I'm actually really outgoing, but in new social situations or when I find myself uncomfortable I get really quiet. I also used to be too nervous to ask the waiter for more water at restaurants. But I ran into some folks I went to Mosaic Project training and I again realized their age. To be a staff at Mosaic you have to be at least 21 and so I'm a cabin leader, mostly with high school students. Now that I'm TWENTY (something I've been somewhat freaking out about... I know I don't need to, but seriously, in my twenties, what?) to be surrounded by 16, 17, and 18-year-olds is BIZARRE. I ran into my sort of aunt (only sort of because in Ethiopia pretty much everyone's related...) and her hippie husband. I ran into a girl I know, I'm not really friends with, and sat down with her. When she left stayed there with her crazy friend from Tehran. Was introduced to a Norwegian traveler by some girl I don't even know. And his name is Leif. And he's fabulous. And we went on a hike, and I brought him home for dinner. And if I don't see him tomorrow I might never see him again. And that's beautiful. I am another friendly face he's found somewhere on the world and I wonder if he'll remember my name. So that's bittersweet, but it's just the way things are. We still connected and have shared a very real and simple friendship. And if I hadn't finally gotten to a place where I felt comfortable venturing into an unkown space on my own (albeit, a festival in People's Park is a very warm, welcoming, and receptive space) then I wouldn't have had the wonderful experience of meeting Leif. In fact, this week I feel like I've really made five new friends, at least one of whom I think I'll remain friends with for awhile. All of this is simply to say that something about this time off is going really right. It's healing. I've also really used others and their friendship as a crutch for my sense of fulfillment, so finding this personal strength, capability, and sense of self is really empowering. So push your boundaries today, go outside and mix it up, talk to a stranger, engage a smile with that old woman on the corner and maybe shake hands with the dude always selling newspapers. There are so many people to enjoy. Make a new friend.

Friends

Ummm, so I wanna talk about friends. And I wanna talk about pushing my comfort zone. Because the past week in particular I feel like I've really pushed my previous comfort zones and made new friends. There's a certain security and self-assurance, maybe even a strength, that I have found recently and that have allowed me confidence. There was a festival at People's Park in Berkeley last weekend celebrating its 40th Anniversary. After a lovely South Berkeley Sunday morning with a good friend visiting from school (he's from Berkeley) I headed to the park to check it out. While I had called up a couple of friends I ended up being there on my own. And I should say here that I have considered myself shy. I'm actually really outgoing, but in new social situations or when I find myself uncomfortable I get really quiet. I also used to be too nervous to ask the waiter for more water at restaurants. But I ran into some folks I went to Mosaic Project training and I again realized their age. To be a staff at Mosaic you have to be at least 21 and so I'm a cabin leader, mostly with high school students. Now that I'm TWENTY (something I've been somewhat freaking out about... I know I don't need to, but seriously, in my twenties, what?) to be surrounded by 16, 17, and 18-year-olds is BIZARRE. I ran into my sort of aunt (only sort of because in Ethiopia pretty much everyone's related...) and her hippie husband. I ran into a girl I know, I'm not really friends with, and sat down with her. When she left stayed there with her crazy friend from Tehran. Was introduced to a Norwegian traveler by some girl I don't even know. And his name is Leif. And he's fabulous. And we went on a hike, and I brought him home for dinner. And if I don't see him tomorrow I might never see him again. And that's beautiful. I am another friendly face he's found somewhere on the world and I wonder if he'll remember my name. So that's bittersweet, but it's just the way things are. We still connected and have shared a very real and simple friendship. And if I hadn't finally gotten to a place where I felt comfortable venturing into an unkown space on my own (albeit, a festival in People's Park is a very warm, welcoming, and receptive space) then I wouldn't have had the wonderful experience of meeting Leif. In fact, this week I feel like I've really made five new friends, at least one of whom I think I'll remain friends with for awhile. All of this is simply to say that something about this time off is going really right. It's healing. I've also really used others and their friendship as a crutch for my sense of fulfillment, so finding this personal strength, capability, and sense of self is really empowering. So push your boundaries today, go outside and mix it up, talk to a stranger, engage a smile with that old woman on the corner and maybe shake hands with the dude always selling newspapers. There are so many people to enjoy. Make a new friend.

WOMANIST

My best friend from childhood sent this to me in an email this morning. I like it.

Alice Walker's Definition of a "Womanist" from In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens: Womanist Prose Copyright 1983. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich

Quote

WOMANIST
1. From womanish. (Opp. of "girlish," i.e. frivolous, irresponsible, not serious.) A black feminist or feminist of color. From the black folk expression of mothers to female children, "you acting womanish," i.e., like a woman. Usually referring to outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior. Wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered "good" for one. Interested in grown up doings. Acting grown up. Being grown up. Interchangeable with another black folk expression: "You trying to be grown." Responsible. In charge. Serious.
2. Also: A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women's culture, women's emotional flexibility (values tears as natural counterbalance of laughter), and women's strength. Sometimes loves individual men, sexually and/or nonsexually. Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically, for health. Traditionally a universalist, as in: "Mama, why are we brown, pink, and yellow, and our cousins are white, beige and black?" Ans. "Well, you know the colored race is just like a flower garden, with every color flower represented." Traditionally capable, as in: "Mama, I'm walking to Canada and I'm taking you and a bunch of other slaves with me." Reply: "It wouldn't be the first time."
3. Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.
4. Womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender.

Justice Now!!!

The Obama Administration has released reports within the past week, the latest being within the past 24 hours, that specifically detail and prove the Bush Administration's use of torture as interrogation to elicit information from detainees regarding an association between Saddam Hussein and Al-Qaeda in order to INVADE and start a WAR in Iraq:

Rachel explains it very well - thoroughly and clearly. I highly recommend watching this 13-minute clip: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26315908/#30356488

There are also many articles to be found online: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/22/us/politics/22report.html?fta=y

I, for one, am ENRAGED!!!

Here are some facts:

a) The same torture interrogation techniques were being used in the military and the CIA, despite the fact that they are separate governmental structures.
b) This is because they both respond to the top - that big, white house.
c) In other words, these commands were coming Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, etc.
d) They had lawyers try to redefine laws in order to somehow make it OK to torture people.
e) They wanted to find a connection between Saddam Hussein and Al-Qaeda. After failing to find a connection they called for new tactics - TORTURE - in order to persuade prisoners to confess to that connection so that they could invade Iraq and start a war.
f) Some of the "interrogation techniques" they used were based off of torture techniques used by Communist China and in the Korean War in order to get a false confession from prisoners of war and supplant their own propaganda.

In other words, the Bush Administration really did LIE their way into Iraq.

They did not just invade Iraq based on false pretenses, but they COMPLETELY FABRICATED those pretenses!

So many people have DIED because of their agenda.

And just - WHAT?!?! asldkf;alskdjf;aklsdj;klja;?!?! How can you sleep at night knowing that you are ordering someone to brutally torture another human being in order to get a false confession in order to invade a country?!

Or just bottom line, how can you order someone to brutally torture another person, regardless of all of that other shit?

That is CRIMINAL. EVIL. APPALLING. DISGUSTING. HEINOUS.

And wanna know the irony of it all? These memos were released from the JUSTICE department. That's some 1984 bullshit right there.

Those government officials should be TRIED, CONVICTED, and SENTENCED TO PRISON FOR LIFE!

Feelin Young, Feelin Fine

Came down to UCLA to visit friends this weekend. It was glorious.

Cleve Jones.
Animal Collective getting me down Hwy 5.
Lucas Habte.
4/20.
Sunshine.
World Arts and Cultures.
Love.
Spending time with old friends and meeting their new ones.
Inspiration.
Self-realization lake shrine.
Running hills.
College.
Hopping fences.
Deep conversations.
Mari-ja-wana.
Love.
The view from an empty lot in the hills of Bel Air.
Freedom.
Lying on the grass – careless, free, without stress.
West African dance with Lisie.
The bombest blues club and soul food.
Good music.
Sweat.
Cultural loving.
Love.

Those are things that stick out. I think that I'm going to write a poem soon.

But first I have to get home.

oh, whoa, weird, today's the 16 and the last post I wrote was ALSO on a 16. It's been exactly 4 months since my last post...

Guess Who's Back...?

Ok, oh man, where to begin...

I suppose first, my sincerest apologies for not writing. I don't think that I was ready to write, to open up. Since I've come home I've slowly decompressed and gotten stronger.

My first week home I lived in the same sweatpants and shirt. I think I changed my underwear, but I'm not positive. I showered once or twice, maybe. I spent two solid days lying on the couch, eating, and watching movies nonstop. It was gross.

After that I started to shower semi-regularly. I started leaving the house and wearing "real" clothes, even if I wore the same pair of jeans for the next three weeks. I unsuccessfully tried to find a job, I had a sort-of internship interview. I started my marathon training.

The next month I started doing bikram yoga. If you don't know, it's a series of 26 postures in a heated room, about 95 degrees. You SWEAT, but afterwards you feel so cleansed. I started cooking a lot.

Mid-March I started going on adventures. I went to Anza-Borrego desert with my mom to see the wildflowers bloom. It was only a few days' trip and we drove the 10 hours to get there, but the whole journey was amazing. That part of California is like a whole 'nother world. And the desert, man, the desert is where you will find truth. My best friend Sam came to visit over her spring break and it was a glorious week being children of the sun, playing all over the Bay Area. A couple of weeks later some friends from Harvard flew out and we road tripped the California coast. We stopped at a winery for wine tasting and a bottle for our sunset dinner on the beach, we hot tubbed deep in the forest under the starry sky, we stripped off our clothes and jumped into a river after a short hike in Big Sur, we shared our music as we drove, we played soccer and drank beer and made musi on the guitar as we soaked up the sun, we had a 6-person RAGER in Santa Barbara, we were positively young :)

Now my life is beginning to fall into place... This past week I began doing some volunteer work with East Bay College Fund, which I will continue for the next couple of weeks. The organization is small and fairly new (the last few years) and gives college scholarships/mentors to underprivileged B students (the A students tend to do pretty well at getting the scholarships they need). Both of my parents are mentors to kids in their senior year of college. I've been doing fundraising work for them so far, basically looking up various grants that we can apply to. I also work on other random projects. This weekend I'm going to UCLA to visit friends.

The following 3 weeks of May: Volunteering as a cabin leader at The (Fabulous) Mosaic Project (www.mosaicproject.org)! In a nutshell it's a diversity education program for 4th and 5th grade students, but it's more than that. The kids come up to the camp with their classes and they come from varying socioeconomic backgrounds. It reallllly intensively opens up a dialogue about stereotypes, prejudice, and discrimination in order to create a space of understanding to eradicate those issues and work towards peace. The program is REALLY well designed, is filled with people who are super passionate, and has been very successful in terms of opening kids up. Sooooo I'm basically helping to save humanity and create world peace. No big deal.
Next couple of weeks: I'll be in France with my lovely, darling friend Sam and her gracious, generous parents! I'll be in the south of France with them, we will spend a night in Paris, and then I'll remain in Paris on my own for a few more days.

a lil less than 2 weeks unplanned...

mid-June to late(?)-August: Workin at Monkey Business Camp again (this'll be my 3rd summer working with them in one way or another and the name is still so silly). Anyway, it'll be all summer, full-time M-F, running around with crazy kids in the sun, anxiously anticipating the weekends by Monday afternoon. It'll be an exhausting summer, but also revitalizing - camp is still fun, bein around kids all day allows me to "connect with my inner child," and I'll be working with some really cool folks. I'm planning on throwing in some camping trips, beautiful hikes, weekend excursions, etc. on weekends.

my cousin's getting married over Labor Day Weekendddd!!!

and then my travels begin... mmmm, early/mid-September, probably the weekend after Labor Day I'll FINALLY head to Maui to do WWOOF! The farm I'm planning on goin to is supposed to be suuuuuper chill, and I hope that I don't get much rain! The farm generally has a minimum stay of 3 months, but seeing as how Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday I'm hoping to come back home after 2 months at the end of November in order to celebrate with my family. And HOPEFULLY my family is going to Ethiopia this winter! We've been talking about it quite a bit and my dad says there's a pretty good likelihood that we will be going, so WOOOHOOOOOO!!! We'd probably be gone for about a month, leaving sometime in mid-December and returning mid-January. Besides I'm planning on being back at school at the end of January. The thing is, I've been dying to go to Le Festival Au Desert, a 3-day music festival (really more like a musical gathering) in the desert in Mali outside of Timbuktu showcasing traditional Taureg music, as well as Malian, African, and other international world artists... Le Festival Au Desert happens in the beginning of January and I believe in 2010 it'll be January 8-10... So basically I'm tryina go. Hoooopefully I have the money - the festival is a few hundred dollars, so it all depends on airfare from Addis to Bamako. Even if we don't go to Ethiopia maybe I can make it to Mali. It's a stretch, DEFINITELY a lofty dream, but I bet I can make it happen :)!!!

At the end of January I should be back at school. Studying anthropology. I already know which classes I wanna take :)

Sooooo that's the plan as of now. Pretty much packed and set through when I go back (unless I don't end up going to Ethiopia, meaning I'll have the month of December at home...). I think that I'm going to get better at updating my blog.

ALSO I've been asked to write a training blog for the San Francisco Marathon Training Program! To view that blog: http://tsfmtp.wordpress.com/ and ALSO I'm fundraising for the marathon! I am raising $1500 for the marathon's beneficiary Youth Run4Fun, an inner-city youth running program. So far I've raised $838! To donate or to learn more about my inspiration to run or Youth Run4Fun: https://secure2.merchantcart.net/runsfm/MyWebPage.cfm?pID=375145&CFID=5576429&CFToken=e7d2489b5aa758f-82E17745-65B8-C82F-8B1462ECF16DBCAF

Really Living

...do you ever think about just... going? Not going anywhere in particular, but going wherever's next.

Just packing a bag, the things that you need, and getting up and leaving? Drop everything, leave it all, and disappear.

Sometimes I just want to head outside and walk, or get in my car and drive (that's more complicated because it requires a good amount of money) and not come back. Sometimes I just want to leave everything I know and wander. Subsist. It would be adventuring and exploring (which I love to do and don't do enough), but I think really it would be more like experiencing. Just living. Really living.

A Letter for my Parents

January 16, 2009

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm hoping to go to DC for the inauguration! I wasn't planning on it, but last night a couple of people who I know marginally well and wish I knew better invited me to come along with them. We obviously wouldn't actually have tickets to be THERE at the inauguration, but I think that it would be incredible to be in DC since it's such a momentous occasion. I have no reason not to go since I'll be done with all of my exams, and even though it's not suuuuper close it's a hell of a lot closer to DC from Boston than it is from California. I figure one day my kids and my grandkids will ask me things like, "Do you remember where you were and what you were doing on the morning of 9/11?" ...and I do remember... I was in 7th grade, it was at our old house. I woke up and no one was in the kitchen, so I went upstairs. The television was on. People were screaming and running and very afraid. I crawled into bed with you. They kept shrieking and sobbing. I went to school and all day long TVs were on in some classroom or another, bawling and blaring destruction and despair. There was an assembly to offer words of support. And there was a really long moment of silence. I cried with Ms. Nguyen.

So when my kids and grandkids ask me, "Where were you when Barack Obama was inaugurated as president? The first black president. The first multi-racial president, like you and like me. Someone who stood for making this country and this world a little more human," I want to be able to tell them that this time I was there embracing the hope and change and progress, basking in the jubilant energy and soaking up the ecstasy on the streets of DC. This time we were screaming and cheering and laughing together as a country united by the prospect of peace, not by mourning. This time we were crying tears of belief and joy and release. This time we were not afraid, but rather our hands were linked in courage and faith as our smiles spread from sea to shining sea. This time we - I you they us them single married divorced adopted orphaned only-child shopping cart-pushing mansion-dwelling green card status Mayflower descendent gun-toting vegan-eating midnight blue translucent ivory, and EVERYTHING all-around and in-between - this time we were merging, not at a point where we vainly try to understand our differences, but where we simply come together to begin healing our country's pain, from the scarred backs of slaves to the scarred New York skyline.

Being human is powerful. From the vast mystery of the mind to the expansive ability of the soul, we are capable of creation - of the future and the past, of ideas and realities, of life and of knives, guns, gases, poisons, bombs, rocket launchers, tanks, missiles, fighter jets, of death and of destruction - of normal peoples' lives at a bank robbery a few blocks away or in a small village under attack in Gaza, of a country, an ethnic group, a chance, a smile. And whatever reality is, whatever this is, within it the ability to not only be aware but also to remember is profound. I want to go to the inauguration so that when I am a wrinkly bag of frizzy gray hairs, a broken hip and forgotten memories, they will still remember. I want to go to the inauguration so that those babies, themselves still wrinkly from the warmth of another’s womb that remembers the secrets of my existence - and, by extension, yours mom, and yours dad - can one day be told that their grandma (great-grandma... or, dare I say, great-great-grandma?) witnessed a moment of human evolution. Not the point at which Barack Obama became a viable candidate, won the democratic ticket, or won the election, but the moment it became real: when enough of us triumphed over Hate, Prejudice, Racism, and Ignorance that we changed the face of America forever. In a country and a world where a natural and deep-seated tendency towards oppression, exploitation, and segregation has reigned, we have now made remarkable strides towards equality, freedom and peace. The inauguration of Barack Obama as the 43rd President of the United States of America is a symbol of the power that we are capable of. So I want us all, connected through time by a web of wombs, to remember that every day we evolve into our humanity, but also to never become complacent and to never forget.

This is a true story that we all live. It should be remembered. And so it is.

I love you THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS much and will see you in less than two weeks! Can’t wait.

Love Always,
Samra

Nevaminddddd

I basically taught myself a CS50 class and played with the html language to get all of my formatting right. Yayyyyy!

A Truth

Some of the culmination of my class on Continuing Oral Traditions of Native Americans... You might recognize a little bit from my earlier rant. I definitely didn't put enough effort into it and want to go back to it relatively soon and make it even better and bigger, but I'm happy enough with it to post it here. Maybe a bit trite, and definitely á la Broken Bridges. Please post comments with any questions/confusion (some things allude to things that we discussed in class and thus won't make sense without an explanation). Also, this wouldn't let me format it exactly the way it's supposed to be (such as at the zig zags) so it's a little off. Nonetheless, enjoy!

A Truth: A RANT
By Samra Girma
Folklore and Mythology 126
January 9, 2008


Dear Justice,

What happened? What went wrong? Can’t you just tick time backwards so that none of this ever happened?

---

I am an emotional being.
A living, dancing, loving, laughing, talking, drawing, cooking, singing, writing being.
I am because I feel, not think… Unless thinking is daydreaming,
that rambling, romantic-thinking
where your imagination takes your hand and explores.
What is reality
when I am aimlessly enjoying
these potential futures?
Keith Basso’s place-making is more than
recreating the past; it is also
imagining the future.
Daydreaming.

…Or maybe I think because I feel.
Because reading Keith Basso’s Wisdom Sits in Places
so resonated with a softness somewhere deep in my soul.
Because I know,
as our guest speaker knows, that
“I never feel better except in the places I belong to.”
Because when my airplane lands
in Oakland Airport tonight this
flash
of vulnerability in my eyes will fade and this
unease
whispering,
mildly throbbing
at my temples or maybe the back of my throat
will s c a t t e r
as I spread into the easy warmth of my home –
those green hills
and that beautiful, sparkling bay.

So, as I said – I am an emotional being…
And a bit long-winded and self-concerned.
Honest?
But my point is that I react,
so that I help these words
curve and swerve on the heels of my thoughts,
bringing to life these ideas that are sown or
suddenly sprout,
all because Keith Basso made me feel.
No, no, not just my bff Keith –
also the German tourists (or were they French?)
clicking snapshots with the Injuns at Plimoth Plantation
– that’s with an “i,” not a “y” –
to take home as souvenirs!
And look at me, German or French – what a hypocrite!
Fasten your seatbelts and snuggle up,
crawling around my mind there are

sharp zigs

and hard zags

and a harder

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

to a stop
when my heart just wants to
YELL and
SCREAM and cry
WHY?!
Why is there so much
HATE and
CRUELTY and
PAIN?!
Why is there so much INJUSTICE in this world,
and why do we – them, you, I –
just exhale a world-heavy, shoulder-drooping sigh –
lie: no, I’m sorry, I don’t have any change
– quick, empty, unintentionally patronizing shrug –
and then keep walking?
Without looking back.

Why am I proud to be a Californian?
How am I allowed to love this land that was loved long before me?
I choose to be far from my home,
snug and secure in the knowledge that it will be there,
and I will return,
and it will again embrace me in its comfort,
allow me the safety to recharge my spirit and remember my balance,
but what about
Those Who Came Before?
They did not choose to have their land
stolen, yanked from beneath their feet so that
– press pause –
they are

suspended

in the air,
dislodged and uprooted.
Now they are outsiders, a minority in their homeland
– what does that do to one’s sense of identity and belonging?

And then America has the AUDACTIY
to propagate these images of Native Americans,
to so horrifically misrepresent the people
whose blood still stains its hands?!
War-whooping,
“ugh”-grunting,
tipi-creeping,
human-eating,
filth-living,
war-mongering,
oversexualized heathens.
Can you say anything besides, “How!” you dumb Squaw?
Put on some clothes besides your moccasins and headdress, chief!
Uncivilized, primitive, savage, you’re like an animal, a beast!
And you’re not so “brave” anymore are you,
viciously running around scalping innocent people with your tomahawks?!
No, you’ve been pacified –

you’re just my mascot,

you’re my Jeep Grand Cherokee,

you’re rowing a canoe on my box of Land O’Lakes butter.

Shattered dreams,
no hope,
a vanishing history (if you even have one).

The cowboys ALWAYS beat the Indians…

And what kind of Indian are you, anyway?

Where’s your tipi?

Why aren’t you having a powwow?

Where’s that phallic feather sticking up between two braids?

Why do you stink of alcohol?

You redskins are worthless,

why can’t you all just die already?!
HA!
You think your “medicine man” doing some drugs in a sweatlodge is gonna help?
You think your ghostdance or your fire-burning-steady dance
– whatever bullshit, stoic metaphor you use – means anything?
We all know that No Indian is as Good as a Dead Indian.
DUM dum dum dum, DUM dum dum dum…
d-do you hear that…?
You will inevitably disappear.

And aren’t those other images of “real” Indians just as bad,
the exalted Indians of hobbyists and counterculturists?
Peaceful, noble, calm,
hospitable, friendly, handsome,
courteous, innocent, simple.
At one with nature and the land.

The noble savage is no better than the vicious warrior.
They are both racist and oversimplified.
Idolizing and playing the “good” Indian
is arrogant in its cultural supremacy.
By turning
Native Americans into ethnographic objects
one is essentially objectifying and dehumanizing them.
They are a mystery,
something strange and foreign,
objects to be analyzed and observed.
Who are we – again them, you, I –
to deem Native Americans as worthy of interest?
And who are we to claim that
these particular attributes
create a real Indian, a good Indian?
As Philip Deloria states in his book Playing Indian,
when hobbyists and counterculturists “play Indian”
they project an image of what it means to be Indian,
creating an identity out of scraps of movies, books, and media.

And what is this generalized “Indian” anyway?
This umbrella term references thousands of societies, cultures, and tribes.
So many different “Indian” languages are spoken
that two different “Indians” might meet each other
and have no idea what the other is saying.
Indian and Native American are akin to European,
but while we will often distinguish between
French and Croatian,
most people have never heard the words Miwok and Anishinabe before.

No. No. No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! NO.

There are many things that I’m not sure about in life (no) there is so much that I (no) don’t know and (no) will never learn but there is a certainty within me that (no) is always there, scratching, it lingers there, whispering… noo!

Call me young and silly, ignorant and naïve.
Tell me that my faith in the world
will soon fade into a jaded acceptance
as those world-heavy, shoulder-drooping sighs become a burden so big that they

will no longer fit on my
beaten-down
heart.

Still I say no.
Because one thing that I do know
is not something I ever learned
in school, at a desk, or from a teacher.

I just… know.

Somewhere beneath the center of my collarbone,
nestled deep in my chest,
below the base of my throat,
there glows a Truth.
Sometimes it’s right beneath my breasts.
It is pure honesty, it is certainty, it is essence, it is one manifestation of God.
It is a feeling – I am an emotional being –
and when I want to yell and scream and cry why,
it is because that Truth is telling me

no,

that is not right,

that is not fair,

that is not just,

that is not ok,

that should not be happening.

---

Can I tell you something?
Honestly?
Maybe I’m a phony…
I have a dreamcatcher and I went on a sort of vision quest.
I believe in nature
and its revitalizing, regenerative, restoring powers.
I believe in a universal power
pulsing through everything on this planet
– the tree, the ground, and the person all planted the tree in the earth –
I believe in the power of peyote
and other hallucinogens to reach ancestral spirits or some form of greater Truth.
Well, I think I do.

So perhaps his words
I am a thirteenth generation survivor
resonate in my mind
because after a massive massacre
of his people and many more,
an American genocide,
I fear that I perpetuate a bastardization of his culture,
and keep him struggling to survive.

---

My Transition-Into-Adulthood-Existential-Crisis

Monday, January 5, 2009

So. I’m leaving.

Where to? …well, actually, that’s sort of the problem… I’m lost.

Stagnant. Motionless.

So I’ve just been listening to this song on repeat.

And isn’t that ironic? Don’t know where to go, so nothing changes, and eventually that becomes normal.

Can being lost become your normal state of being? Are we ever found?

I think that this is going to be a long one…


So. I’m leaving.

Well, not actually leaving, I’ll be coming back – at least at this point of time, I’m planning on coming back – but I’m going away for awhile. I’ve (almost) made it through three semesters at Harvard, but it’s time to go. Get away. So I’m taking a leave of absence this spring.

I’ll be home working for the first few months, not entirely sure what I’ll be doing yet… waitressing? Internship with a social justice organization? Internship at a law firm? It’ll figure itself out… During this time I plan on doing extensive yoga and meditation, going on many hikes, backpacking trips and nature adventures, and beginning training for the San Francisco Marathon at the end of July. I want to learn how to play the guitar. I will do a good deal of gardening with my parents and I will create more art pieces for the garden. I will begin pursuing photography. I also have a pretty long booklist to begin tackling…

In May (hopefully) my adventures begin… I want to work a few weeks at the Mosaic Project (www.mosaicproject.org), go down to UCLA for jazz/reggae; in June I either head off to work on an ecological education schooner in Puget Sound (www.soundexp.org) or do Humanity in Action in Europe (www.humanityinaction.org). Home for 4th of July and then off to WWOOF in Hawaii for a couple of weeks (www.wwoof.org) and back to run the SF Marathon on July 26th. Here’s where shit gets tricky… If I study abroad in Buenos Aires this fall I might be leaving at the end of July, pretty much right after running the marathon, and I sort of want to have August because…. The first weekend of August is Reggae Rising, a meditation retreat the 10th through the 16th with a week-long backpacking trip either the week before or after.

Ok, and why?

Well, several reasons… My own demons, my continued discontent with Harvard, but I think mostly I just can’t be in school right now… I can’t focus. And I don’t care. I’m not motivated, I’m not making any effort. Going through my classes this half-heartedly is a waste of everyone’s time, LOTS of money, and a great opportunity. I love to learn and I love to be challenged and I love to be engaged, but I’m not excited about school right now. Instead I just feel stifled. And more than that I’m just questioning, and I don’t see the value in structured education. At least not for me, not right now.

My grades will certainly be the lowest this semester than they have been ever before. I keep thinking how furious my dad would be with me right now (will soon be) – it’s 3:30 in the morning, I have a 10-page paper due tomorrow at 5 p.m. that I have written 0 pages for thus far, and instead I’m writing a blog… I am not fulfilling my potential. My grades will not at all reflect what I am capable of, but rather my disinterest with school. By following a simple formula I can write an A-paper: well in advance of the due date read the instructions, gather the necessary resources, read them and take notes, begin formulating ideas, write a draft, send it to the teacher one or two weeks before it’s due, revise according to the feedback received, and chances are I’m good to go… Much of the work that is approved of is either regurgitation or bullshit. Very rarely am I given license to harness my imagination and creative abilities and make something that is my own (although according to Schutz and various other phenomenologists, what is really my own when everything around me is socially constructed… see, I’m learning something…). So if I wanted to put in that effort, I could – the thing is, I don’t see the point, I don’t feel that I gain anything from it. It might solidify my understanding of a certain topic, but for how long… how much will it really impact my life ten years from now? And I just don’t want to write this paper! It does not excite me at all, I don’t care about what I’m writing about, I’m just doing it because I have to! The only thing that writing this A-paper will teach me is how to follow those rules, how to think within a certain box, to how produce the desired results within the desired framework. Fuck that.

And then what?

I asked if we’re ever really found – we spend all of this time traveling or being lost, but how often in life are we ever really found? Ok, so I know that this whole rat race thing is a little cliché, but what is the point of it all? To get a good job I need a college degree in order to prove that… I can sit down, shut up, and follow directions. I should write a whole bunch of A-papers at Harvard so that I can get a good job so that… I can work. And I work so that I can have the resources to enjoy life, but then I’ll be too busy working to have the time to enjoy. And I’d rather spend more of my time enjoying than working. So you get a job that you enjoy, and to get the good jobs you need a college degree…

But I have no idea what I want to do.

There are so many ways to learn outside of the classroom that we don’t take advantage of. And no, I don’t mean engaging in tons of extra-curriculars (to boost your résumé). I think that I actually mean learning how to be human and learning how to be alive. We have become so cut off from our bodies and the earth. Many of us don’t really use our bodies – we spend so much time sitting at a desk, driving a car, running on the treadmill, all very static and artificial. We are afraid to fall, we are afraid to get dirty, we are afraid to touch. We have all of these boundaries, these buffer zones, up around us.

What does it mean to be found? What are we working towards?


As many issues as I have with this whole game of structured education and, I guess, life, I still can’t help but feeling like a failure. Or at least that I’m failing. I am unable to buy into this, but it has been so institutionalized and normalized that I feel like by straying from it even while disagreeing with it I am somehow messing up. Perhaps because if everyone believes it to be true and accepts it then it must be right. Right?

More than that, I’ve always been guided. There’s always been a path to follow. By following that A-paper formula I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m working towards. By being in school I know that my goal is to graduate and then get a job and then… By straying from that I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Perhaps I will end up at the same place as everyone else – there are many roads to Rome, whatever Rome may be? I sure hope not though…

I have come to a realization regarding my tenuous, complicated, tension-ridden relationship with this place:

There may be days when I smile and laugh and truly feel good.

There may be classes or institutions that put forth ideas which spark an excited passion within me.

There may be (many. in fact most) days when I'm running around, occupied, too busy to even call my parents.

I may attain some degree of "social success" - final club, lots of sort-of-friends... a boy who graduated last year exclaimed in wonder, "But weren't you voted one of the fifteen hottest freshman?!" when I told him I had a rough freshman year. I guess we just have different values.

I may live day to day absolutely content.

BUT

I will never feel completely at ease here.

I will always be on edge, anxious.

AND

My heart will never gush, overflow, and simply spread into the same, warm, comfortable smile that it does while I'm home.



Even when things are fine here, I'm doing well, I will still be and AM still writing about how alienated my soul is here. In other words, I'm doing fine, but I could be doing great.