It feels like it’s been a long vacation. Temporary. It feels like it’s been as unimportant and unreal as a dream. Artificial. It feels like it’s been a piling of good stories to return home with. Thrilling. At the end of the day, despite everything that I’m learning and experiencing here, my concept of home is only further reinforced. My home is Oakland, the Bay Area, California, the United States of America. Sound familiar?
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
There's No Place Like Home
It feels like it’s been a long vacation. Temporary. It feels like it’s been as unimportant and unreal as a dream. Artificial. It feels like it’s been a piling of good stories to return home with. Thrilling. At the end of the day, despite everything that I’m learning and experiencing here, my concept of home is only further reinforced. My home is Oakland, the Bay Area, California, the United States of America. Sound familiar?
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Disgraceful
The longer I’ve been here, the more I realize what a bubble life is. Similar to home and Head-Royce, ICS and the world I’m experiencing in Addis is so confined and protected. It’s the life of the elite, the well off, a life where you really don’t have to worry about anything. Sure there are those with problems like asthma or family issues, and I’m not trying to play those down. Everyone has their difficulties in life. But only a very small percentage of the kids I meet ever actually have something serious to worry about, a fatal illness or the death of a mother. Life at ICS is so sheltered. None of these kids have ever had to worry about surviving until tomorrow, escaping bullets or scavenging for food. Mom and dad are diplomats, UN officials, own the biggest enterprises in Ethiopia. These kids go to school during the week and go out clubbing during the weekends, with their drivers always there to drop them off and pick them up. I’m not trying to make it sound as if rich people don’t have their own problems to battle, or that I’m above it all, because I am just as spoiled and take a lot for granted. But I think it’s sad how enclosed they are, even just from Ethiopian culture. For example, there are those who have lived here for nearly their whole life, or even just five years, and don’t even speak a word of Amharic. It’s disgraceful. I don’t know, that’s basically all I have to say for now. I’m not feeling very wordy, I’m pretty exhausted. I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted a proper blog, but I’ve been super busy and stressed between school and sports, but I’ll get back on it soon. I get out of school at 11:35 both Thursday and Friday, and I don’t have school next week. Then the following Tuesday we leave for our tournament in South Africa! I can’t believe it’s come up so quickly. This Sunday is going to be one month with my boyfriend, and again, I can’t believe how time has rushed by. Ah, and so it goes. Until we meet again… g!
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