Shadows of My Smiles, Echoes of My Laughs, And Skeletons of My Tears and Fears

Closing One Book and Opening Another

2009-12-11T13:33:00.000-08:00

I realized last night that this story, Shadows of My Smiles, Ecoes of My Laughs, and Skeletons of My Tears and Fears, well, that it's done.

This chapter is over.

It's rather bittersweet... and I'll miss it, but it's time, you know?

I'm not done writing though, oh no, not even close. For one thing, I want to start taking writing more seriously. Next semester I'm going to take a non-fiction creative writing class focusing on memoirs since mostly I like to write about myself. Ha. And of course I will continue journaling.

But I've created a new blog with which to carry forward, called coloring outside of the lines,

And from here we just move forward. Que será, será...

A Decision: Turn Harvard Upside-Down

2009-12-03T01:44:00.000-08:00

my truths as i've shared with alexis :)

first, the revolution:

one other big huge piece that i've learned is something along the lines of transformation. when i talk about startin to make choices of freedom, i mean it, i mean real choices of freedom in contrast to choices of fear. we become so held back by these voices in our head - who the fuck are they anyway? our parents? our teachers? society? some part of ourselves...? we stay confined within rules and expectations, within the (not)thinking of our education system. we become cut off from our bodies, from our spirits, from the land. we become stagnant and we become broken. what happens to our dreams? why is it that when i begin to feel, to pulsevibrateresonate, when i become connected and aligned another part of myself starts saying that i'm going crazy, that it's just a phase, that i'm young and overly-idealistic, that this spiritual mumbojumbo hobgob that i'm beginning to be spewing is nonsense? also, why am i judging that voice, and can i love all of those voices, give them all room and let them be at peace within me? but for real, why do my hopes and dreams have to be unrealistic, why can't i pursue peace, why can't i change the world? i increasingly find us shackled, not just by those voices and fears, but by our modes of interaction, all of these societal constructs that we've built up. it's really quite extraordinary, this world that we've created. but it's not working. something's wrong. we have "strayed." so now it's time to let go - let go of the fear that we cling to, and let go of the fear of letting go. let go of all the voices telling us that we are crazy, we are naive, telling us that we can't do it, it's not the right way, things don't work like that. it's time to let go of all of the bullshit, to shed these layers that have built up around us, to unfold and open up and find what is real, find our truth. and it's a long, hard process, mindfulness and awareness and healing. most of all healing. i don't know that it ever ends. along the way i have caught glimpses of god in its full glory and felt it pulsevibrateresonate within me, i have expanded and felt connected to all. maybe religion has made us forget god? along the way i have found hope and i am learning love. go out into nature. sleep under the stars. do yoga. eat well. create. paint walls freely. run fast. sit silently. make music. don't just dance, move. drum circles in redwood groves. plant seeds and grow gardens. bicycle. sing. as loud as you can. bake fresh bread and share it. smile when you mean it. make friends everywhere. find and feel your inspiration. learn, please never stop learning and never stop being amazed. dream. and hope. and joy. and love. this is self-liberation, freeing our true self from fear, but also freeing ourselves from our "self." some sort of enlightening, some sort of awakening. this is the revolution.

then, the process... this is in response to a looooong thread going over the harvard black student association thread regarding all of the recruiting on campus by finance and consulting firms (it's absurd, crazy, ridiculous, a lot):

i'll preface this by saying, obviously, that this represents my opinion. i spend a lot of time thinking about this, and so i'm not trying to purport this as TRUTH but simply share what i feel and believe. please, if you take issue with something i say, i would appreciate not feeling like i'm being attacked, demeaned, or condescended to - just say what you need to say without the negativity.

so... a lot of this
MONEYMONEYMONEY!!!BANKING'N'CONSULTING!!!RECRUITING!!!LADDERCLIMBING!!!WORKWORKWORK!!!
nonsense is why i decided to take a leave from harvard. this shit is everywhere. coming in as a freshman i also had no idea what ibanking was but everyone was doing it! networking, suits, info sessions, ec10, banking, etc... A and alT, yes, there are other options out there, soooo many other options, and yes, if one is to make a wise decision one should research those other options, but speaking from my own experience and point of view - finance and consulting are overwhelmingly the options presented to us at harvard, and as a freshman who didn't know any better (and who didn't know enough about myself) it seemed like that was the only "real" option. or maybe the easiest. while ocs is a wealth of resources, i've felt that it's also hard to navigate, especially as a freshman with no direction or idea of what i want to do. so if everywhere, all around me, all of these people are talking about banking and consulting, then they must have figured something out. right...? i've seen a couple of folks at harvard give up their idealism and care for humanity in exchange for for greed and care for themselves... and some sort of just-because-everyone-else-is-doing-it mixed with "valuable work experience."

well, i never went to any of those career panels or job fairs. they kinda scare me. and they just never felt right, for me. and so i left because i wasn't happy and because i didn't know where i was going.

i don't know when i'll make $50,000 [over 2 summers] like S. it would be great to not have to worry about student loans, to ease my parents' financial burdens, and to have the money to save the world. but at the end of the day finance and consulting don't excite me, and i don't have much interest in making lots of money or in doing work that i don't enjoy. i don't care about "ballin" and everything that i can buy when i am. i also can't just put my head down and plow through the work for a couple of years in order to have the capital to positively create change in the world.

A, i think your plan [work in finance to understand how our financial system works, how businesses make and spend their money, and earn the capital to establish "a financially viable and socialy impactful non-profit"] is admirable. i would never want to do it because for me it would require "selling out". and that's ok, we'll save the world our own ways. but if anyone cares about inequality and cares about peace, then they care about money and financial systems. money is the base of this whole thing that we have created. some ~*~FuNnNn!!!~*~ quotes from marx:

*I do not like money, money is the reason we fight.
*Capital is dead labor, which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labor, and lives the more, the more labor it sucks.
*Capital is money, capital is commodities.... By virtue of it being value, it has acquired the occult ability to add value to itself. It brings forth living offspring, or, at the least, lays golden eggs.

money, banking, financial systems, WEALTH -- they all equal power and control. and in the case of the system that we live within they also equal inequality. inequality is obviously more complex than this and is complicated and perpetuated by numerous other factors - social, historical, etc. - but a lot of our worlds' ills could be solved if the world's wealthiest people chose to live significantly more simply. From my homies at Wine & Bowties "The 400 people on [the Forbes 400 richest Americans] list have a combined net worth equal to that of more than 14.7 million people, on average (about 1/20th of the population)."

so what is my point with all of this?

*take initiative to create a louder alternate voice on campus in terms of internships/career opportunities (in contrast to f/c)
*in response to "et3"'s don't hate the player hate the game, be aware of the privilege and power that we hold as Harvard students - al is right that we're incredibly, incredibly lucky to have such access and exposure to positions of economic power (not to mention alllllll of the resources and opportunities that harvard provides)... so what are YOU gonna do with it?
*in response to all of the personal blows that are being swung at each other, never underestimate the power of hate and the power of love: what if instead of judging you i had the courage to see myself in you? what if i had the courage to recognize that that could be me? what if i had the power to love us through it? - iamani i. ameni
*recognize that the system's INCREDIBLY fucked up - so i'm not gonna be making 25k this summer, but where will the resources come from to fund whatever service/social justice project i find myself in? (...in order to create TRUE change we need some sort of massive awakening, a great shift of consciousness and of values... what i think 2012 is really about )
*never stop trying to CHANGE THE SYSTEM. never stop believing that things can be different, that we can change the world. choices of fear or choices of freedom?

and, the decision:

as for me, after much painful, heart-wrenching tearing of myself, much contemplation, and much discussion i've finally (i think...) decided that i'll be heading back to harvard in the spring. oh, it's a nasty place and the way i was living there before leaving certainly wasn't healthy... but mostly iiiii was not healthy. i feel strong now, and i feel equipped. fools will be slinging bullshit at me and around me left and right, but i'll deflect it all with my shield of... love? truth, maybe? knowledge or understanding....? anyway, i know what i'm doing there now, i know what i want, and i'm gonna change the world, and harvard's gonna help me do that. i also now know what i need and know how to take care of myself. what i think'll be most difficult for me at first will be establishing a community (though i'm hoping to move into the co op at school), finding "kindred spirits," and finding safe/supportive spaces/communities in nature that are fairly easily accessible from cambridge.

and, finally, my dream (or one of them) at harvard:

my dream at harvard, though, is to create a truly welcoming space. it'll be a home, a cooperative of sorts, and maybe 8 or 10 of us will live there. maybe just 5. plus random couchsurfers and vagabonds and people we plucked up from the street. and it will not only be our living space but also a shared alternative social space for the harvard community that is open and welcoming to all (not just harvard folks). we have final clubs at harvard, they are basically frats/sororities, and are based on exclusion. they're not all bad, there's a lot of great stuff once you're in... anyway, this house would be the antithesis to final clubs. it will be a space of love and openness and caring and we will kindly ask all those who come and brighten it to let go and leave the bullshit behind. we will paint the walls (and ceilings?!) with murals and pictures and words and whatever we are moved to create. we will have a beautiful, thriving garden... and i've always wanted a chicken coop, but i'm not sure how that works with winter... there's a lot i have to learn. one day a beehive. goats if we have room! we will bake our bread and dumpster dive and share meals and share chores, usual co-opy stuff. and we will have drum circles and jam sessions, maybe open mic nights and host local or traveling bands. we will have spontaneous dance parties, and we will paint our faces and have real, blowout dance parties. we will have craft and DIY sessions and skillshares - bicycle maintenance, cooking, discussions, homebrew, etc... we will also partner up with organizations on campus like the harvard co-op, the women's center, the outing club, the ecological action committee, etc., to host events. we will have midnight bike rides. it will be a hotbed of student activism on campus, giving life to and sustaining a soul and conscience at harvard. there will always be something going on, someone to talk to, someone puttering around doing something, music echoing, good smells emanating. as our community grows we will have potlucks. it will be a home and it will be a safe haven. hopefully it will turn harvard upside-down.

Creating Peace

2009-11-21T09:55:00.000-08:00

Some of the questions from a recent email to a teacher:

Do I still feel like I've sold my soul by choosing Harvard...? If anything, being there has given me my soul, made me aware of it - but was anything else ever going to happen? Do I still feel like I will have to sell my soul after leaving Harvard? No. Absolutely not. It's hard enough to remain mindful and aware just considering myself a Harvard student at times... I've been on a leave of absence since January and am now sitting with the contemplation of whether or not I will return. Questions of privilege - does my presence in higher education give power to a system of unequal access to resources/opportunities (while recognizing that I am a woman of color); supporting a system where a Harvard degree will "open doors" so that I can create change - how can real change happen if doors still need to be opened?; supporting a system that puts value into a degree that can be earned with no heart or connection simply by following their rules - what is learning, why learn, and how and what do I want to learn? And from that questions of education, mainly, is our mode of education effective? ...I unpacked boxes of books today and found my IvyWest SAT prep book and it's pretty horrific, and that book and those classes required money from my parents and supposedly helped me get into college in order to open various doors in my life.... What does equality look like? What does my ideal society look like and what can I do to help bring us closer to that, to peace? Creating alternative systems v. working within the system, ecovillages in Slovakia v. projects in West Oakland - does it make sense to leave Harvard because it's "bad," and does it make sense to let go of the doors that it will open because of principle and belief that that's not just when, so I'm told, there are single mothers working multiple jobs and still struggling to survive? If it weren't "so I'm told," if I really knew what poverty is, would I be questioning going to Harvard?

if walls could speak

2009-11-08T15:59:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-07T01:25:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-07T00:57:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-09-19T16:25:00.001-07:00

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]

2009-08-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-27T19:31:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

...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

2009-06-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-01T15:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-01T15:35:00.000-07:00

WOMANIST

2009-05-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

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!!!

2009-04-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-21T10:57:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-16T17:05:00.000-07:00

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...?

2009-04-16T16:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-01-16T17:19:00.000-08:00

...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

2009-01-16T02:11:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-16T01:30:00.000-08:00

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

A Truth

2009-01-15T21:59:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-12T00:59:00.000-08:00

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…

2008-11-23T21:21:00.000-08:00

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.

Wear Sunscreen

2008-11-19T18:33:00.000-08:00

I'm posting this until I get my act together and put up another post (this could be tonight, who knows...). Anyway, it's great - youtube it and watch the video.

Everybody's Free
(to wear sunscreen)
Mary Schmich
Chicago Tribune

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '97... wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be IT.

The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.

I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

You are NOT as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself, either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

By Special Request, For You

2008-11-12T14:29:00.001-08:00

So, as my title eludes, this post is for you (you know who you are, xoxo), by special request. And thank you for prompting me, because you're right, I definitely do have thoughts to share.

a) A quick follow-up to the election.
b) Final clubs at Harvard

I begin writing this in the Winter Garden in CGIS North, one of two (I think) very modern buildings dedicated to the Center for Government and International Studies (thus, CGIS). Here's a link to an article on it... I haven't actually read this article... http://www.news.harvard.edu/gazette/2005/11.10/05-cgis.html. Anyway, in the spacious library on the bottom floor of one of the modern GIS buildings there is this Winter Garden, a small, dim room with couch-lined walls, each couch separated by a plexiglass divide to allow for privacy, and in the center of the room, ferns and a fountain. This little Zen (well, sorta) garden is SO random and unexpected and I love that it's here.

So speaking of the Center for Government and International Studies, OOOOOBBBBBBAAAAAAAMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Tuesday night after he was elected it was CRAZY! I was in the Cambridge Queen's Head Pub watching the election coverage with the rest of the black community here at Harvard. While I am not active within it, I am SO happy that I was there. That experience, sharing that moment of watching America elect its first black president with other hopeful, ambitious black students was very profound. I left around 11:20, and walking through Harvard Yard was RIDICULOUS! Mobs of people were running around, climbing on John Harvard... there was even a boy in a Borat thong suit merrily dancing around! I ran into a friend who told me that the Spee (one of the male final clubs here at Harvard) was having a dance party in the street, so we headed down to Mt. Auburn together, and sure enough it was going strong! Cars honked joyously, declaring their support as they drove by... at least I'm pretty sure that's what was going on, not that they were honking for us to get OUT of the street! One cab driver even kept circling around so that he could continue to celebrate with us. AND one car even stopped and the people got out and started dancing with us! Now, imagine if McCain had been elected, the reaction would have been SO different. Instead of celebration, joy, dancing, tears of happiness, and HUGS EVERYWHERE, it would have been somber, depressing, and tears of sadness and worry. So as my oh-so-optimistic mother says, it's a new day; now let's just keep him alive.

So, moving on to final clubs... this is a HUGE topic to tackle. I've been wanting to write on this for awhile, but because it's so touchy it's something that I have to be very tactful about. In fact, I don't think I'm ready to post what I have written yet... I want it to be clear and concise, and accurately portray final clubs. Until then, Wikipedia has a pretty good explanation: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Final_club.

The Morning of the SortOfApocalypse...

2008-11-04T07:48:00.000-08:00

I've been itching to write something... Technically I should be writing this response paper for my class, but this is more important. This is huge.

My dad has called me politically apathetic before, and there are times when I've felt that way. There's so much that I don't know when it comes to politics, so much that I don't yet I should. The thing is, a lot of it goes over my head, these terms that sound like some foreign language and this history of political hobnobbing that I just don't know! But I'm not apathetic, just somewhat ignorant. And I do care, especially as I'm getting older, I care about my voice within my country and my ability to affect change. As I've said before, I'm a feeler not a thinker, and so when it comes to issues on peoples' rights such as gay marriage - I am certainly not apathetic (Vote NO on Prop 8 in CA!).

And when it comes to this election, today, I am excited and nervous and scared, but I am not apathetic. My absentee ballot is in. It's funny how this day has crept up on us. It's sunny out in Cambridge as students walk to class, and I have Kuumba rehearsal tonight from 7-9. Birds are chirping and the wind is blowing and it looks and even feels like any other day, but it's not. Today is an Apocalyptic-like day. Hopefully NOT the Apocalypse, I don't mean this in any negative sense, but today has that same potency on our future. Today is HUGE. This is an election that so matters in determining our country's ability to move forward from our history of hate, and in re-establishing ourselves as a democratic nation. Today we will see how far we have come as a people, how much we have evolved from stubborn, narrow-minded animals. Today we will see how much we care about healing together, as one community and within this world.

So many people are proudly walking by with their "I VOTED" stickers on their chests. This election has inspired and ignited and actually has a physical, tangible presence in the air. Today we are already living history.

Mind Your Own Business!

2008-10-27T10:20:00.000-07:00

There is an article in the NY Times today about religious conservatives pouring time, energy, and money into battling against the legalization of same-sex marriages in California (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/27/us/27right.html?_r=1&th&emc=th&oref=slogin).

I DON'T understand these people. I quote from the article below:

“This vote on whether we stop the gay-marriage juggernaut in California is Armageddon,” said Charles W. Colson, the founder of Prison Fellowship Ministries and an eminent evangelical voice, speaking to pastors in a video promoting Proposition 8. “We lose this, we are going to lose in a lot of other ways, including freedom of religion.”

....are you SERIOUS homie? Are you really about to say that allowing gay marriage in CA will lead to a loss of freedom of religion? We may very well have a black president here in America, and after that the gays might take over, and after that the non-believers. It's Armageddon, the world's coming to an end! Quiver and quake in your boots! While it seems that the world is becoming increasingly secular, and in response to that increasingly conservative religiously, that statement is NOT ok. Your whole point is that you should have the freedom to express yourself and your religion - ok, great, go ahead and do that. But YOU do that, don't try to impose your own religion and beliefs on others. By allowing same-sex marriages, no one is trying it outlaw your religion. Just as you should be allowed to practice your religion, others should be allowed to practice their own beliefs.

The classic: If you don't want a same-sex marriage then shut up and don't get one!

2008-10-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just get really sad. Usually, like right now, it happens when I'm sitting in Lamont Library trying to do reading. This small, cramped, very unaesthetic (don't know if that's a word) building gives my thoughts no room, my head has no room to breathe. I feel squeezed into this building with low ceilings surrounded by many other Harvard students chugging away. And then my mind begins to roam, and it inevitably goes back to home and summer, and in my mind's eye I am reliving wonderful moments - a delicious dinner with my whole family on the deck on a balmy summer night, a friend's smile as we're walking down the streets of Berkeley on a sunny day, a profound and gentle kiss leaning against his car late at night under stars...

I often wonder if I were in a small, cramped, very unaesthetic library at Berkeley would it be any easier for my thoughts to find their space? There is a question of the importance of place that has come up often in my Folklore & Mythology class on Continuing Oral Traditions of Native Americans... many people are not aware of their physically spiritual connection to a place, a location, but who we are is inherently tied up with where we came from and where we are. For Natives, and I cannot ever speak with complete authority on this topic as an outsider, their cultures are greatly tied into setting and landscape, their stories stretch into beings from them, they are very much a part of the land. And now they are outsiders? On land that was initially theirs? What does that do to one's sense of identity and belonging? Many Native people do not consider themselves American, they are of a different nationality and believe to have autonomous states, but their land, their territory was stolen from them - again, what does this do to a person's sense of self? Their nations are not recognized, they have no land of their own. Ok, this is tangential and a rant, but it's frustrating, it's unfair, and it will never be righted.

Life has been incredibly busy the past couple of weeks. On top of midterms and papers there have just been lots of events, which means late nights, which means not enough sleep, which means I'm getting sick, which is not good. And it's all been SOOO much fun, I've been having a great time, and I'd rather be busy than bored, but in the midst of chaos such as this I often begin to feel a little empty. Which is why now I'm writing about being homesick and ranting about Native land issues.

There's that cliché idea of feeling alone in the middle of a big city, and I think that best describes how I feel amidst this busyness and fun - somehow I still feel a little lonely and missing home. Maybe this is when it creeps up on me most, right when I'm getting into the swing of things it just decides to pounce and remind me that this is not my home, this is not where I can draw my strength and find my balance.

I think my issue is just that I need to find my missing piece. The root of my loneliness is the lack of a significant other to pour my excessive amount of love into.

In other news, it's a beautiful, sunny day in Cambridge, MA.

Oakland is a Bomb-Ass Place

2008-10-16T11:13:00.001-07:00

My mom just sent this to me... man, I love my home...

FYI, I read in the Oct 2007 San Francisco Magazine the following about Oakland:

Multiculturalism: Af-Am 31%, Anglo 26%, Latino 25%, Asian Am 16%
Dialects and languages spoken: 100
Rank among cities in ethnic diversity, based on US census criteria: 1 (tied with Long Beach)

And...

2008-10-14T10:53:00.000-07:00

...what does it mean for your best friend(s) to be far away from you? What are the implications on your happiness and sanity? Even if you have a community of sorts around you (as I do) how does it affect your spirit and your being to have those people who fill you up so far away? How do we cope and manage? Survive?

OK, So I'm a Broken Record. Sorry

2008-10-14T06:17:00.001-07:00

It's funny how some people just fill you up. Being around them, hearing their voice, or even reading an email from them clears your head, sets you in a positive place, puts a smile in your heart. Some people just touch you deeply.

Friday afternoon I had about a 20-minute phone conversation with my dear friend Will, and that evening another of my best friends, Sam, came to visit me through Sunday from UPenn. And just wow. While I have a shitton of work coming up, I feel so recharged. And I can't wait until Thanksgiving (7 weeks away gahhhhhh!). So take some time to appreciate those special people who so resonate with you, make you feel comfortable, strong, whole, make you feel like YOU.

If you haven't yet, pick up Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It will open your mind and help you begin to understand.

And on another note, Boston's not all that bad. On Saturday Sam and I and one of her friends went into the city for the day. We went to Quincy Market, a shopping center slash upscale public market slash place filled with street performers; we then walked through the city to the Boston Commons, a huge park, perhaps somewhat reminiscent of Central Park except much smaller, and stopped to listen to a two-man performance, one on a guitar the other on a bass, if i remember correctly, watch the anti-war rally, some hippies banging on drums, a rubbery man breakdance; we then walked through the Boston Public Gardens, the site of Make Way for Ducklings and gathered some red leaves (yes, the trees are mightily changing colors now) and smiled as we watched wedding pictures being taken; we then walked through the stony, winding streets of Beacon Hill, overcome with its quaintness, and stopped in a fine market to pick up some bread, cheese, and grapes for a light dinner. Then we took the T home as the sun was gloriously setting over the Charles. It was a perfect day.

Oh yeah, and my computer died (hard drive fried, lost everything, haven't backed up since school started) and I had to get that repaired... and I have three papers due this week, eeeeek! but you know what, now it's fixed, and they CLEANED my computer for me, and it's ok, I'll get my papers done, they won't be brilliant, but I don't particularly care... I'm not sure how much more time I would have spent on my papers this weekend had my computer been fine, and I'm PERFECTLY happy with how I did spend my time :)

So, say I love you often. Don't judge places or people or really anything too quickly. Adventure and explore. Take advantage of good weather and good company. Prioritize making good memories. Don't stress too hard, because everything - no really, everything - will work out.

The Beauty of the World

2008-10-08T11:18:00.000-07:00

I am alive.

I am 19.

I am in college.

I took a nap.

I am healthy.

I have a loving family.

I make new friends almost every day.

I saw a beautiful sunset last night.

I did yoga today.

Every day is an adventure to be had, experienced, enjoyed, shared.

The Mentality of $$$

2008-10-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

Harvard surprises me. First of all, I'm amazed by how I continue to meet so many wonderful people. At the same time there is something very wrong with this place... well, many things, but especially this: in my sociology 128 section we were talking about independent and dependent variables. Dependent variables will change and are affected by independent variables (they are dependent upon them). So we had this example, this drill: happiness is the dependent variable, what are possibilities for its independent variable - or, what is happiness dependent upon? Tell me WHY multiples peoples' first response was MONEY or WEALTH or INCOME?! Finally one girl said, her voice raising, question-lilted, "Having... good friends...?"

There is so much money in these red bricks that we are surrounded by and in this history that we live through every day.

I am not an intellect(ual?)

2008-09-30T22:22:00.000-07:00

In fact, I'm so tired and not in my mind right now that I'm not even sure... intellect or intellectual?

But my point is that I am a living, breathing, loving, dancing, laughing, talking, drawing, cooking, singing, biking, writing, painting being. I am because I feel, not think. I am because I AM. Maybe that's why I don't love college.

Plus I'm slightly lazy.

Love

2008-09-22T19:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I miss you so much that it hurts.

Summer of Sun

2008-09-20T16:17:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s been awhile…

First I want to say that the two posts I wrote last year are angry, pained, lost, hurting posts. Some people have advised and even demanded that I take them down. They feel that I am slandering my parents and airing too much of my personal life (again that whole issue of a private journal in a public place). However, I will not take them down. My intent is not to defame anyone, especially not my parents whom I love and respect with all of my heart. But more importantly, I refuse to take them down because they are an accurate reflection of the pain that I was going through last year. They are honest and real and I will not censor myself for “public decency.”

Second I want to say that things have gotten so much better.

By the end of the school year, the point at which I wrote that last post, I was talking with my Freshmen Dean about taking a leave of absence. I was teetering and on the edge. Thinking back to that strained place of darkness, coldness, sadness… well, it hurts, my body is tense and my heart is beating faster just writing this. I was so unhappy and tightly wound when I left school last year, but I went home, unknowingly, for the best summer and 3 ½ months of my life. Thus far.

This was a summer of sun. A summer of love, positivity, growth, introspection, friendship, adventures, happiness, unwinding, music, maturing, quietness, laughter, conversations, nature, family, joy, beauty, strength… the list goes on. This was a summer of living. Where do I begin…?

A guide. I had an incredible therapist this summer. There is so much stigma around “shrinks,” and that’s probably why the world is riddled with so many problems. I cannot stress how important I think it is for people to have a therapist who can help guide them through their psyche, give them tools to work on their issues with, and to illuminate and celebrate all of their strengths. With my therapist’s help I started unwinding myself, peering into myself, seeing and understanding myself. I attribute all of my growth this summer to her and I am eternally grateful to her for it. Without her help I would not have been ready or fully open to the wonderful people who came my way.

A relationship. I dated a boy this summer who I’ve known marginally since 6th grade or so. We went to different schools, but he has a lot of friends who went to my school – and just generally a lot of friends. He is a musician, he loves to argue (excuse me, discuss), he is intelligent and laid-back and easy-going, and he’s just so cool. He is an exceptional person and I have great affection for him. He has a power and confidence that is inspiring and sexy. He has a calmness that is balancing and a gentleness that is soothing and strengthening (when telling him this I joked that I’m sort of making him sound like a shampoo commercial). But what was most amazing about him is how he made me feel. For once in my life I had a POSITIVE relationship, with him. I felt easy, comfortable, strong, important, beautiful, and capable, with him. He inspired me, revitalized me, and he showed me how to truly care about someone, communicate with your partner, and have a healthy relationship.

What’s funny is that our relationship is one of those things that was always sort of fated to be… We’ve always been sort of interested in each other, aware of each others’ presence, and when we started talking friends exclaimed in wonder, “What?! Nothing’s ever happened between you two before?” He and I had an email exchange about this time last year about each other disillusionments with school, and one thing we talked about was that nagging sense of waiting. You know what I mean, that haunting sense of waiting for life to just hit you, like something is about to happen, or you’re looking for something fulfilling and exciting, but you don't know where or when you’ll find it…

Well this summer I suddenly stopped waiting and I started living.

A best friend. William Reid Roberts profoundly impacted my life this summer and I am so grateful to have found a friend in him unlike one that I've ever had before. I have sooooo much respect for him. And I love him very deeply. He is an amazing and beautiful person and I attribute so much of my growth this summer to him – to his charisma, his passion, his intellect, his love, his openness to whatever happens to come his way. He is a thinker, a lover, a friend. He loves to adventure and he loves to meet people. He has a peaceful soul and a powerful presence. He is wise. He’s a funky fool who likes to get down and have fun. His presence and his energy so grounded and revitalized me this summer, and he reminded me of all of the beauty in the world. As I’ve said, at the end of the past school year I was lost in such a dark, hopeless place and so ready to give up. Will taught me how to embrace life again.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling a little off kilter, I think of Will. I meditate on things he has told me, good memories together, just his general enthusiasm for life. Or maybe I just pause. And take a deep breath. And think of him smiling. And I feel him right there next to me, or inside of me, deep in my heart, and I am reassured that everything will be OK.

And that’s the thing, in the words of the great Bob Marley, every little thing’s a-gonna be all right. Yes, earlier in this post I did mention that the world is riddled with problems, and that’s true. But there is so much love and beauty and good in the world, and I am sure of it. And the world is what we make it, and we can make it a better place.

So my summer ended with me feeling revitalized, restored, renewed, replenished. It left me feeling alive and full and present. It left me as an optimist with a reassuring faith in the universe and all of its beautiful quirks and oddities. It left me with a peace of mind and a peace of being. And heading back to school I was nervous and anxious and scared that I could not maintain these feelings of balance without being at home, without being in the presence of these wonderful people…

So let me pause and tell you a little story about Alexander Shulgin. According to erowid.com: When Shulgin had his first psychedelic experience in 1960, he was a young U.C. Berkeley biochemistry Ph.D. working at Dow Chemical. He had already been interested for several years in the chemistry of mescaline, the active ingredient in peyote, when one spring day a few friends offered to keep an eye on him while he tried it himself. He spent the afternoon enraptured by his surroundings. Most important, he later wrote, he realized that everything he saw and thought ''had been brought about by a fraction of a gram of a white solid, but that in no way whatsoever could it be argued that these memories had been contained within the white solid. . . . I understood that our entire universe is contained in the mind and the spirit. We may choose not to find access to it, we may even deny its existence, but it is indeed there inside us, and there are chemicals that can catalyze its availability.''

Upon reading this it dawned on me… well, peace of mind and peace of being, that easy, comfortable, strong, important, beautiful, and capable Samra – put in whatever adjectives you insecurely feel you are lacking – already exist within me and within you and within all of us as long as we tap into them! My therapist, my (ex-)boyfriend, and Will were my mescaline, catalyzing the availability of these things within me, unlocking the door to these things within me! This may be a no-duh thing for you, but this a profound and mind-blowing realization for me. I have spent so much time feeling inadequate, wondering when I will take on other sterling qualities, but everything is inside of me. We can be whatever we want to be if only we tap into those resources within us.

Hmmmmm… so this has been far too long of a post for too long. Snaps to you if you’ve actually read the whole thing. That’s probably only my dad. Love ya daddy. But basically I’m at a much better place now than I was a year ago or even (slash especially) a few months ago.

I am strong and capable and beautiful.

I am me, Samra G!

I am ready to take on Harvard and take on the world.

On my own.

But always with the memory of those who have touched me and added their beauty to my life.

Thank you.

I love you.

Everything will work out.

1st Year

2008-05-04T00:53:00.001-07:00

This place isn’t all bad. Right now I’m too tired, I’m too sick, my eyes are too puffy to expound upon the beauty here, particularly in the friends that I have found.

But it’s been hard. I take the pills the psychiatrist prescribes. I talk with the therapist, although my preferred therapy is singing in Kuumba.

I know that I am strong and capable and I will make it, but at what cost?

You tell me I should not (read: cannot) leave. Think about the money spent on this term, think about the time you’ve spent on this term. Only two more months, only 6 more weeks, only one more month, only 15 more days. And it only gets harder.

So what about me? What about my spirit, my soul, my vitality? I’m strong enough to make it, but it’s a struggle and it wears me down.

The thing is, I don’t want to leave. I just want a break. I just want to breathe. I just want to feel alive.

Harvard

2007-10-07T20:50:00.000-07:00

10/8/07

When I first came to Boston I loved it. Sure, people don’t smile as much, but experiencing something new and different was refreshing. I still can’t wrap my mouth around words, or even my mind around ideas, that adequately define the differences, but I try. The sunlight is different. Home is bright, but here even when it’s sunny it’s never bright. Here roads are narrow and buildings are brick, and all of this history has its own beauty, but home is wide, expansive, and natural.

And see, at first I loved these redbrick buildings, once I began to understand them. It’s sad that I’m already getting a little disillusioned and jaded, but now their cold austerity is overwhelming. There may be little architectural differences and details, but overall it is monotonous. And I get angry. Fuck these redbrick buildings and this elitist, old money, East Coast bullshit. Fuck these fast-paced, money-grubbing, ladder-climbing assholes. And I get sad. I get sad because everything is intellectualized, analyzed, and torn apart so that it just feels empty. These people try to understand everything, and while they avariciously claw at more answers they lose a certain human feeling, a carelessness, an acceptance, an appreciation, another understanding of simply being. What did I expect? This is college. And so I cry, because that emptiness begins to pervade my ability to simply be. But you’re not supposed to cry on this campus, and there’s nowhere to be alone. So I cry in the stacks in the library, and I cry in the shower. Tears trace streams down my cheeks, and my face contorts into a silent cry, always silent, just in case someone walks by.

A New Twist

2007-10-07T20:08:00.000-07:00

10/7/07

06-07 in a nutshell:

So I returned home.

My friends were there, still. We were comfortably weird with each other. We passed our nights chasing myths of parties. It was exciting and safe.

I took great classes: astronomy, the history of Islam, women’s literature, lift every voice, ethics and morality.

I sang with the chorus, strutted on stage in the performance of the musical The Little Shop of Horrors, chased after a ball on the soccer field.

I ate burritos and naan, injera and hummus, pasta and pad thai, dolmas and stir-fry.

Life was simple even when it was busy.

Senior year came and went.

And then, suddenly, after 4 years, or 7 years, or 13 years, or somewhere in-between, we were graduating, we were heading off to college, we were going away. How did this happen? Where did all of that time go? So we cried and we hugged, until we were too numb from too many good-byes, and the days droned and blurred as – one by one – our days grew a little emptier. And then we become old friends as days are filled with new ones.

So now that I’m off again my blog is being resurrected. This time home is not “on the other side of the world, over deserts and oceans and millions of other people’s lives,” but it is on the other side of the country. And I’m beginning to learn that this country, this East Coast country, is a very different terrain.

Broken Bridges: A Memoir

2007-10-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

So, this is a sort-of memoir that I wrote last year, my senior year at Head Royce, for my second semester English elective. The layout can be a bit confusing at first, so I recommend a couple of go-overs. I hope you enjoy it. A special thanks to a reader of my blog for my final line.

Broken Bridges
Samra Girma

“To stomp about the world ignoring cultural differences is arrogant, to be sure, but perhaps there is another kind of arrogance in the presumption that we may ever really build a faultless bridge from one shore to another, or even know where the mist has ceded to landfall.” – Barbara Kingsolver

I.

My father did not want to come to America.
They killed his leader,
Burned his transcripts,
Held his brother at gunpoint.
When they visited Addis Ababa University,
Machine guns rained bullets upon the students.
Mothers sifted through piles of
Corpses stacked in the streets,
Covered in red slogans.
Paint or blood?
He ran.

II.

I am two.
My father teaches me Amharic.
I begin to stutter.
He stops. I never learn.
There have been so many
Ethiopian New Year’s,
Ethiopian weddings.
Ethiopians love to celebrate,
Dance, eat, talk.
I always sit next to my mom,
But I face her back.
She chats with a neighbor.
I sit quietly,
Watching indolently.
Others dance,
Their shoulders bouncing
Up and down with the rhythm.
I cannot Iskiste.
My fingers do not know
How to wrap injera around lentils.
It becomes soggy and crumbles.
I hear Amharic all around me,
But it sounds harsh and strange.
I do not understand this foreign language.

I.

Kids laugh when they hear “Djibouti.”
Boys make crude jokes and
Girls huddle over maps with glittering eyes.

It never crossed my mind to laugh at “Djibouti.”
He ran to Djibouti, hidden in the trunk of a car.
He spent four days at the border,
Penned in a four by four cell.
In a dehydrated delirium he anticipated death
And used his belt buckle
To scrape a goodbye on the walls.
One day a woman’s hand descended over a wall
Offering a bowl of milk.

He was transferred to a prison.
For a month he was caged
With criminals and other refugees.
Food was communally shared in a large cauldron,
Soggy rice with bits of the butcher’s meat scraps.
Men would ravenously thrust their arms into the pot,
Their dirty hands swimming through the slush
In search of the rough bits of meat,
And smear the slop on their tongues.
He would not, could not.
Luckily, each morning they served
A piece of bread and a cup of tea.

By a miracle, he was released
And made his way to the capital.
He slept under cardboard on the streets
Until his mother sent him money to rent a shack.
A year later he left for America.

He does not remember laughing once while there,
But kids laugh when they hear “Djibouti.”
Boys make crude jokes and
Girls huddle over maps with glittering eyes.

II.

When she was younger,
My white mom discoed to soul and Motown.
She dated the president of the BSU at UC Berkeley,
Ignoring patronizing stares and death threats.
She ran around Lake Merritt at night,
Bathing in the silence of the semi-darkness,
Passing the Black Panthers practicing their self-defense.

When I was younger,
I would pick up barbeque with my mom.
Clinging to my mom’s wrist,
I would glance warily at the black men in line.
Later I would lick my fingers,
Barbeque sauce smeared around my mouth,
And declare:
“I love barbeque,
But those black men scare me.”
My mom would laugh at me.

I.

My parents met at a bar,
The Graduate on College Ave.
My mom wore big glasses and short skirts.
My father had an afro and a thick accent.

Now my mom is hypothyroid
And takes blood pressure medicine.
Now my father has high cholesterol
And sprinkles his Amharic with English.

II.

My inflection is confusing.
Isn’t she black?
My mocha skin is deceiving.
Her mom is white.
I am more than one check mark on your standardized exam.

My parents tell me that I am beautiful,
But in America
I want her thin hips,
And I covet her golden hair,

And so in the past I ran from defining myself:
Black, Mixed, Ethiopian-American.
Instead I fancied myself a woman of the world.

I.

My father writes:
“We are a generation
that was forced to leave our homeland under very difficult circumstances
and to raise our kids in all corners of the globe.
We are also a traumatized generation
that dreams of the day when our homeland will know peace instead of war.
We dream of the day when our leaders will have the wisdom
to lead with dignity and honor as their forefathers did,
instead of perpetuating a cycle of hate and disaster.
In the meantime, we yearn to share with,
and maybe pass on to our children,
a piece of this special place where we grew up
that most of us still call home.”

II.

I always wanted to spend a year abroad.

During my freshman year my parents suggested I go to Ethiopia.
I wholeheartedly rejected their idea.
In the eyes of the Western world,
Africa is infected and tainted,
Riddled with disease, poverty, and corruption.
Africa spends every day combating AIDS and starvation
While venal governments bask in luxury and wealth.

During my sophomore year I realized race.
I watched the white girls get invited to prom by the older boys again,
Saw movies like “Bamboozled” and “Hotel Rwanda,”
Read books like Beloved and Reservation Blues,
And began to more fully understand
Racism, Hate, Ignorance, and History.
My future seemed impossibly stuck and predetermined.

During my junior year I left for Addis Ababa.
I left for buses and taxis and streets of black faces looking back at me.
I left for old men with wise wrinkles chewing chat outside of tiny souks.
I left for crusty-eyed children mobbed by flies selling Soft tissue paper at stoplights.
I left for the priests’ Ge’ez incantations gliding on the still morning air.
I left for the warm smell and hazy smoke of fresh-roasted coffee beans.
Some would say I went home.

I.

He needs his fix.

Like the alcoholic in the smoky bar
Or the drug addict at the crack house,
He slinks off to the restaurants.
Birbire still stuck under his fingernails
He comes home drunk off of the flavors,
High and dizzy with memories.
When he kisses me goodnight
His clothes reek of spices.

He is forever addicted to Ethiopia.

II.

Half a year has passed,
It is the last day of classes before the Winter Holiday.
My face is beaming, I am ecstatic.
I incessantly chirp,
“I’m going home tonight!”
An Ethiopian friend grins,
Looks at me hard, and says,
“Home? This is your home,”
He fervently jabs a finger at the ground.
I cannot tell whether or not he is kidding.
“Ethiopia is your home.”
He says this with passion.
And people are only ever half-joking.
I tell him that I am only half Ethiopian,
I have attended the same school for the past five years,
I have lived my entire life in Oakland, California.
I have only been in Addis for the past five months.
He does not say anything.

I.

My father’s name “Haile” means power.
In America people butcher it:
Haley, Hail, Halle.
But it does not matter,
Because in Ethiopia his name recalls
His Imperial Majesty Haile Selassie I, a great leader,
Haile Gebreselassie, one of the best track runners of all time.

II.

Ethiopia gives me confidence and understanding:
I am three special bracelets that I wear on my left wrist everyday.
I am soft, smooth, arms that I love that other people love.
I am short, curly hair, a funny ear, stretch marks on my hips, and a weird lisp.
I am a fine food aficionado and a shopping addict.
I am music, movement, and knowledge.
I am loving too hard and suffering from the backlash.
I am bright colors that often feel dark.

II.

I was intimate with Ethiopia:
I laughed at its absurdities
And suffered from its misfortunes,
Yet I still saw its undemanding beauty.
I saw it for what it is, I hated it for what it is, I loved it for what it is.

Now Addis seems so far away.
Ethiopia and California are two completely different worlds,
Separated not only by mountains and oceans and other peoples’ lives,
But by a distance that lives in my heart and my mind,
A knowledge that consumes that my body.
In Oakland, Ethiopia doesn’t seem real,
Simply another silly dream.
It’s funny how this happens,
How the past rusts and fades in my memories.
Or rather, it becomes faint whispers of something that has happened,
Maybe only something that could have happened.
When I reach out to grab them…
Well, whispers are fairly hard to catch.

And my father?
My father did not want to come to America.
Sometimes, late at night, I get up for a glass of water.
Walking past his nook, I see him sitting there,
Leaning on his desk, completely engrossed.
The lights are off, but the computer screen glows blue around him.
He devours pages of Ethiopian newspapers online,
But he especially loves the blogs:
Political blogs and personal journals,
Blogs by Ethiopian expats and European foreigners.
He craves those words,
Yearns for the images they tease into his mind
Of a past, of a home.
He searches them for hope of one day being able to return.
Silently suspended in his blue world,
Ethiopia haunts him.

But the other Ethiopian men sit together at Starbucks.
My father makes his cappuccinos at home.
His mornings are slow and lazy.
He yawns as he descends the stairs to the kitchen.
His house is modern, angular, glass,
And the morning mist recedes from the hills,
Exposing his million-dollar view.
He lounges in his bathrobe next to my mom.
They sip their cappuccinos and chat
Clients, family, dinner.
A kiss goodbye.
He showers, dresses, and drives off to work.
He will never return to Ethiopia.

III.

Here’s to finding and redefining ourselves.

A Father's Perspective

2006-10-15T21:34:00.000-07:00

During the last year, this Blog has helped us follow Samra’s sojourn as a young Ethiopian-American spending a year in Ethiopia. Family, friends and almost 600 other individuals have read her reflections. Some have left their blessings, words of encouragement, admiration, and well wishes. As her father, I thank you all for your kind words.

I wanted to write this entry primarily to share my perspective with other Ethiopian parents in the Diaspora. My purpose is simply to tell how our family decided to send our daughter on this sojourn and what the year meant to us. It is neither to advocate nor discourage others from doing the same. We all have different challenges and circumstances in life and have to chart our own way on how to get things done.

We are a generation that was forced to leave our homeland under very difficult circumstances and to raise our kids in all corners of the globe. We are also a traumatized generation that dream of the day when our homeland will know peace instead of war. We dream of the day when our leaders will have the wisdom to lead with dignity and honor as their forefathers did, instead of perpetuating a cycle of hate and disaster. In the meantime, we yearn to share with, and maybe pass on to our children, a piece of this special place where we grew up that most of us still call home.

For years I dreamt of spending a year in Ethiopia, so my kids could experience what it really meant to grow up there. I wanted them to experience what I experienced. I wanted them to experience what it meant to grow up in a place where everyone looked like you. I wanted them to experience what it meant to grow up in a place where children are celebrated and considered the utmost gift from God. Most of all, I wanted them to experience the beauty and diversity of Ethiopia. Although we have visited Ethiopia a few times starting in 1995, I did not feel they really appreciated all the things that gave meaning to the essence of Ethiopia. In order for that to happen, I felt they needed to experience going to school there, having friends there, and living a day-to-day life surrounded by the sounds and sights of life in Ethiopia.

I had hoped one of my associates would manage my business in California, while I spent a year with my family in Addis. Unfortunately, that did not work out. I had almost given up when a friend’s wife who had moved back from Los Angeles about seven years ago was visiting in early 2004 and suggested that Samra should come stay with them for a year. Their oldest son had just moved back to LA to finish high school and their daughter, who is Samra’s age, would love for Samra to come and spend the year with them. That was a tough decision. I had not envisioned my kids in Ethiopia without me. They would be leaving us soon enough to go to college, and a precious year away at this age seemed unbearable. However, as they say, timing is everything. Samra was at a stage in her life where issues like identity were paramount in her life. She wanted to take the opportunity. She wanted to go. How could we say no?

We took her to Ethiopia in mid-August and helped her settle down with our friends while we stayed at my cousin’s house. My cousin is an educator on the East Coast and uses her house mostly during the Christmas and summer break. The house came with a caretaker who also happens to be a great cook. Samra’s first day of school was tough, though. As adults we sometimes forget how much a teenager’s identity is wrapped up with who their friends are. Samra has always been a social girl with lots of friends. However, that first day of school she did not know a soul at ICS except her cousin Sally, whom she had just met. I still have the visual of her standing alone in the assembly between all the kissing and hugging of kids who had not seen each other all summer long. Watching her watch the kids, I thought maybe this was a mistake. That evening I was sure it was a mistake. It was one of the worst days of my life. Samra came home in tears. I called Sally and told her it’s her job to have lunch with Samra every day and to take her under her wing. I called the school counselor at home and asked what else I could do. Does he have any words of wisdom? He said it’s not just the new kids who have a hard time at the beginning of school; even his daughter has been crying all night because her best friend has moved back to Europe. He also said from his experience this will all be history in a week. He was right. By the end of the week Samra was flapping her wings and flying into the horizon. We stayed in Addis until mid-September to make sure she was doing ok, but she wasn’t very interested in our being there. We then left and came home.

I have to admit the first few months were not easy on me. We typically called Samra a couple of times a week. There were a couple phone conversations where I wondered what the $#@^ did I do leaving my baby girl thousands of miles away. I almost got on a plane a few times after talking to her on a day when she was particularly having a hard time. That is when Marsha and I decided one of us would have to spend quit a bit of time there. We decided it would be easier on us as a family for Marsha to go. We also decided that she would keep going back periodically as long as Samra needed us there. I really…really missed my little girl during those first few months. I couldn’t wait for her to come home for Christmas.

Marsha actually ended up spending another three and half months in Ethiopia. She went back in November and came back home with Samra for Christmas. She went back again from mid-March to mid-April and also from mid-May to mid-June. This actually ended up being a blessing for Marsha as well. In the past, she had seen Ethiopia through my eyes. During her stay, she learned to appreciate Ethiopia through her own experience and interactions. She was also able to do some volunteer work at ICS giving her a chance to interact with the expatriate and Ethiopian professional community as well.

Life got a lot easier for all of us after the Christmas break. As you can read in her blogs, Samra’s mantra that home is Oakland, California, USA …...somewhat changed around then. She was making friends and having a lot of fun in Addis. She was able to navigate through the chaos that is Addis and she felt she belonged. She learned to take a regular taxi, negotiate the price in Amharic and go get her hair done or simply hang out with friends from ICS. Knowing that she was having a good time made my life a lot easier.

Although the year was not always easy, we are very happy that Samra had the opportunity to spend the entire school year in Ethiopia. You can read her blog entries about her self-discovery during the year. She truly is a different person. Some of the obvious benefits included:

1. She has learned enough Amharic to get by. She took formal lessons twice a week for most of the school year. The nice thing about the formal lessons is that she can read and write as well.
2. Spending a year at ICS with kids from more than sixty nations has made her appreciate that she is unique as an individual and is not just a check mark next to her ethnicity on some census form.
3. They say that you need to know where you came from to know where you are going. Samra has always been confident and strong. However, I think this year has made her even stronger and more confident.
4. She really gets Ethiopia! All the stuff I mentioned above plus some more.

I hope you will find this perspective helpful if your family decides to take this sojourn for your child.

Haile

My Version of Addis...

2006-08-05T01:49:00.000-07:00

Ethiopia… I miss it. It’s true, it’s finally just so clear to me. Nearly seven weeks later I have realized it. I have finally cried. The pain has suddenly slapped me across the face, and my cheek stings red.

What is Addis Abeba, Ethiopia? Haha, in only one paragraph… Addis is waking up with the dawn when the priests’ Ge’ez incantations glide on the still morning air. It is old gray buildings, brown dirt roads, not much green. It’s large piles of bloodied beg carcasses on the side of the road on holidays. Addis is old men with wise wrinkles and placid eyes sitting on crates outside of tiny souks chewing chaat. It is contrast and contradiction. It’s the land of stick-shift and old cars. Addis is beggars who use their stub-limbs to stab your heart with guilt. It’s wooden scaffolding. It is the warm smell of fresh-roasted coffee beans and their hazy smoke that lazily drifts out through open doors and windows. It’s modern glass buildings being erected on every block. Addis is boys in tattered brown clothing laughing and running down the street. It is birbire always stuck under your fingernails. It is Haile Selassie, Meles Zenawi, Bob Marley, Colonel Mengi Haile Mariam, and Ala Mudi. It’s loaded donkeys and herds of sheep blocking the road. Addis is air heavy with diesel fumes. Addis is smiles exposing tattooed gums. It is hills of tin roofs. It’s swimming at the Sheraton at night when it’s beautiful and all lit up, and it’s silent but for the lapping of the water, and there are only old men who shouldn’t be wearing Speedos but are. Addis is blue and white taxis whizzing through the streets and the whining drone of “Bole, Bole, Bole” or their respective destinations being yelled out of the window. It is “sambusa” instead of “samosa.” It’s high foreheads and long noses. It is wealth in the hands of few. Addis knows stray dogs but is just beginning to fully understand dogs as pets. It is red and orange anbesa buses that are red and orange because they are sponsored by Kodak. It’s hilarious Ethiopian accents when speaking English. Addis is crusty-eyed children mobbed by flies, wooden crosses hung delicately around their necks, selling Soft tissue paper at stoplights. It is attending your mother’s sister-in-law’s daughter’s fiance’s cousin’s wedding. It is customs, propriety, and saving face. Addis is learning our tolerance and and partying on weekends with ICS, Sandford, Greek School, Lycee, and St. Joe’s. It is TV in Arabic. Addis is kindness, hospitality, and generosity. It is ancient like love. It is love.

Many Days Have Passed...

2006-07-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

Many days have passed. I have hardly held on to them. I let them briskly brush past me. Then I watch them disappear around the corner.

Many days have passed, and on most I awoke with the hopes of writing a new blog. I obviously haven’t done that until now, more than a month after I’ve returned. I think that it has been intentional… I’ve built a vast wall inside of me separating my East Africa from my West Coast, and I don’t dare peek over it. I don’t want to think about Ethiopia, I’ve blocked myself off from it, which probably isn’t that healthy. And that’s the tricky thing now that I’m home: How do I find the balance? How do I hold on to Ethiopia and keep it a part of me? How do I live here in a completely separate reality without forgetting about Addis…?

Maybe I make things more complicated than they have to be, and moving on in life doesn’t have to be as difficult as I make it. Some people might tell me to stop whining and move on, what’s done is done. But I just can’t see it as that simple… bahhhh, I don’t know, my thoughts on this are still so scrambled, I can’t cohesively string my thoughts together yet… and I still need a “What is Ethiopia?” blog as well.

Home!

2006-06-26T01:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm finally home, and after a few days of rest, errands, and cleaning, I'm up and running again. I was unable to post for a couple of reasons. For one thing, as my dad mentioned, I was unable to access blogger from Ethiopia. Also, unfortunately while in Ethiopia my computer contracted a virus (or actually over 11,000... and it never even went online!), and it crashed. Thus, all of my blogs were inaccessible, and it wasn't until I was leaving that I brilliantly realized that I could actually handwrite entries! Anyway, here are nine (i think) new blogs that are actually beginning to get quite old as the days keep ticking by, finally up and posted for your pleasure. Enjoy, and there will probably be two more in the next few days.

En Route

2006-06-26T00:57:00.001-07:00

Monday, June 19, 2006

Sitting on the airplane, people are still boarding. Even though it was ridiculously humid and hot as we walked through the passage-tunnel thing connecting the airplane to the airport, it’s beginning to rain. Raindrops splatter against the window. Some remain stationary. Others tumble down the window like tears.

We’re seated in the very last row, and I’m nestled into the right corner. I like sitting next to the window. I like observing, and I like watching things go by.

My observation for today is that even though I’ve left Ethiopia I haven’t actually left it. True, as soon as I stepped off of the plane and made it through customs, I saw hordes of clean white people, a shocking sight to my eyes. True, an hour later I went on a shopping spree for fake food, sugary, artery-clogging goodness; I got a cinnabon cinnamon roll, venti Starbucks raspberry mocha frappuccino, and garlic fries swimming in an ocean of oil. But I got “real” food as well: Panda Express.

Now, those are absolutely NOT Ethiopia. But here’s the thing: we hiked all the way to Panda Express, and it happens to be right in front of the Ethiopian Airline gate. And there happened to be a flight boarding heading back to Addis. My ears devoured the sound of Amharic being spoken all around me, and my eyes relaxed at the sight of many Ethiopians, the familiar faces of strangers. We even saw someone who we recognized from Addis! Ethiopia is truly inescapable.

…Although, I suppose that now that I actually am back in the States my blogs will soon come to an end. Shame, I’ve enjoyed myself.

Abiy Again (but this time for good)

2006-06-26T00:57:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 19, 2006

In Washington Dulles airport, getting ready to board flight to San Francisco. Am I really only a 5-hour flight from home?

The 17-or-so-hour flight, direct from Addis to Washington, actually wasn’t hell! I guess that I’ve gotten used to waiting. Mom and I spent the last few days just kind of wasting away the time, waiting until our flight. We just didn’t have much left to do. And we were ready to come back home.

Before we left Abiy came by. He gave me his advice, said his thank yous, and finally said goodbye. His eyes started tearing, and so he kept avoiding our eyes, staring interestedly at the ceiling, and glancing at the TV. After playing Stevie Wonder for a few minutes, he finally met our eyes, smiled weakly, and rubbed away the tears. Abiy had to leave to pick up another client, but he called again later for a last goodbye. And that was that.

The Talk

2006-06-26T00:56:00.001-07:00

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Sometimes adults will look at me, not necessarily inquisitively, but out of a bored interest. They paste on a smile that doesn’t usually look happy, and they slightly cock their head to one side.

“So, Samra, you’re leaving soon, right?” Why do they ask me when they already know the answer?

“Yep…” I reply, my voice trailing into an awkward silence. We twiddle our thumbs for a moment until (lightbulb pops over their head!) they ask me, “So, are you excited to be going home?”

I think to myself, Ugh, not this question again, but out loud I say: “Yes and no,” I put on a half smile and tilt my head from side to side, “I mean… I’m happy to go home and see my friends again, but it’ll be really sad to leave Ethiopia.”

I don’t know if they’re now actually interested, or if they just have nothing better to do, so they ask, “So you’re happy that you came to Ethiopia? If you could do it all over again you would?”

“Of course, without a doubt,” I answer. They raise their eyebrows and nod their head. “Really?”

They are surprised.

“Really,” I say, nodding my head along with them.

“Well, that’s nice.” And they go back to sipping their drink, or looking about the room, or they begin chatting with someone else.

Trip Down Memory Lane

2006-06-26T00:56:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 17, 2006

I’m leaving tomorrow night. Already. I can’t believe it’s already over. I once wrote: “Each day might seem long, yet you look back and it dawns on you that you slept through it all.” Perhaps this time I wasn’t actually sleeping, but there are some things that I didn’t take advantage of, and now regret stings in my tears. For example, it was only within the last couple of weeks of school that I was really getting tight with and hanging out with kids in my own class. My closest friends throughout the year have been Sally and Veerle, both seniors. Finally at the end of the schoolyear I really started spending time with the kids in my grade, although I will admit that it was probably most out of necessity because the seniors were frequently gone. And it was then that I realized how much MORE fun I could have with so many MORE people. Alas, and so it goes.

Despite these regrets that I will carry with me, - few maybe forever, but most until I get too caught with life to care and remember – I’d say that overall it’s been a great year. On the very first day of school, that oh-so-memorable half-day, I got home and cried, and cried, and cried, until my eyes were red and swollen. Even my dad came in and started up a symphony of sobs with me, complete with sniffles, wailing, and sputtering incoherently about wanting to go home. My dad is a sensitive guy, but I can count the times I’ve seen him crying on one hand. But seeing his baby girl cry like that and mumble about how she hates his country, she hates ICS, she wants to go home… well, I’m sure that his tears not only stung with regret, but also pain, confusion, and worry. He was so excited for me to come to Ethiopia and learn the culture and the language, but on that first day of school I was so scared and lost and lonely. He gently rubbed my back and cradled me in his arms. He stopped crying, but his voice was still wavering as he told me that maybe this was a mistake… if I still wanted to come home in two weeks, I’d be on a flight.

That was August 17, 2005. Ten months later, and I’m leaving tomorrow. When I get home I will flop down on my bed. And I will cry, and cry, and cry, until my eyes are red and puffy.

Tick, Tick, Tick...

2006-06-26T00:31:00.000-07:00

Tick, tick, tick… Every second that passes brings me closer to my final moments. Haha, it sounds like I’m talking about my death…which really isn’t that funny. But I suppose that in a way it is a sort of death of me. Although a new part of me has been born and I have been forever changed by this year, as it comes to an end, so a chapter of my life comes to a close. Slowly, qes beh qes, a part of me will die as I’m driving down Bole, entering the glass doors of the Addis airport, checking into my flight, sitting on an Ethiopian Airline plane.

This is life: you are born, you live, you die. To everything there is a beginning and an end. I will continue to say “hello” and “goodbye.” Another of my favorite singers, Brett Dennen, sings, “Nothing lasts forever/ not even the mountains/ some day they will be swept away and swallowed by the sea.” We keep moving forward, tumbling and tumbling towards a future that is unknown, but that has a definite end. It’s bittersweet.

As sad as I am that all of this has come to an end, I am so happy that I had the opportunity to experience it. “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Hmmm, I still don’t agree with that statement. You see, I will most definitely smile because it happened. I’ll look back on it all, sigh and smile sadly, tenderly wrap it up, and store it in the warmth of my heart and soul. But I will also sob until I have no more tears to cry; my nose will be red and runny, and my eyes will be so swollen that I can hardly open them. I’m a sensitive girl, this is natural. Good memories and bad, it’s been a wonderful experience…

Excerpt from ICS Yearbook

2006-06-26T00:07:00.000-07:00

Nice excerpt about Ethiopia from the ICS yearbook:

Emerging from the eastern horn of the African continent is one of the most misunderstood and stereotyped of Africa’s developing nations. It is narrowly portrayed by the western media as a sub-Saharan wasteland fraught with chronic drought, populated by starving children with distended stomachs and fly covered faces and burdened with economic hardship. But these images are only a small part of the reality of Ethiopia, an ancient civilization once called Abyssinia, which is the archaeological site of “Lucy” and perhaps the origin of man some three and a half million years ago.

This is Ethiopia… a country unique in all of Africa, a country that managed to retain its cultural heritage because of centuries of isolation, yet a country that is also a melting pot of Mediterranean, Arabic, and African influences. Perhaps most noticeable is the theocentric orientation of its 50 million people, assembling regularly for religious holidays to honor the different Patron Saints. Most remarkable is that peaceful co-existence prevails among the equal representations of Christian orthodoxy and Islam, unlike the clashes between fanatic religious factions characteristic of other parts of the world. Most Ethiopians express their gratitude to God or Allah in quiet devotion, without zealous fervor or proselytization.

The dress, music, religious ceremonies, lingual intonation, and even facial characteristics display this beautiful and distinctive marriage of African and Arabian, Christian and Muslim. Ethiopians essentially interact in a spirit of unhurried cooperation – miraculous, considering the economic devastation and disadvantaged conditions most of them live with. Yet Ethiopians display not despair, but open affection, gentleness and quiet joy, many walking hand-in-hand, or arms about each other’s shoulders.

Geographically situated in the heart of Ethiopia is its capital Addis Ababa, literally “New Flower.” It is a bustling metropolis of contrasts, with modern architectural wonders set aside corrugated tin hovels; crammed buses and funky Fiat taxis compete on pot holed roads with heavily laden burros, sheep, goats, cows, and hundreds of thousands of pedestrians.

Advertised as having 13 months of sunshine, the climate is often ideal. Addis Ababa’s 8,000 foot elevation makes it dry and sunny throughout most of the year, with heavy rains during the months of July-September.

About 80 embassies exist in the capital, along with the continental headquarters for many Africa relief agencies. Both the African Union and the Economic Commission for Africa are headquartered in Addis, making it uniquely international and the longtime home of many humanitarian-oriented epatriates.

Goodbye

2006-06-26T00:05:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 28, 2006 (European Calendar)
Sunday, May 20, 2006 (Ethiopian Calendar)

Zare ginbot haya newot. It marks 15 years since the downfall of the dergue. In 1978 Colonel Mengi Haile Mariam seized power in Ethiopia, assisted by the Soviet Union with $2 billion worth of arms, 20,000 Cuban troops, 300 tanks, and 3,000 technicians. Obviously it was a pretty violent time, and the dergue regime was not the most democratic. All day ETV’s been broadcasting scenes of people celebrating and dancing in commemoration of how lucky they are now that Ethiopia has become a “democratic” country and their votes and opinions count.

In other news, last night was the ICS prom. It was quite a success, with over 400 people present, the biggest prom in ICS history, and parents, family, and kids sufficiently buzzed. Funny thing: before coming to Ethiopia the closest I had gotten to anything Danish were the Danish pastries from Albertson’s that we sometimes ate for breakfast on the weekend; my date to prom was half Greek and (yep, you guessed it…) half Danish.

Now that prom has come and gone it truly seems as though the end is near. At the beginning of the year I wrote: “So… my family leaves today. In only a few hours. How has a month gone by already? Will an entire school year go by just as fast? In a blaze will it all be gone, over, swallowed by flames in an instant? Each day might seem long, yet you look back and it dawns on you that you slept through it all.” Well, now I know the answer: yes. This is life, you can’t change it. You have to accept it as it is, and that means that you have to try to savor every moment. It’s a lot easier said than done, but once I finish finals I truly will live up my last 2 ½ weeks in Addis.

I’ve just read over all of my blogs and recapped on the year. Haha, it’s interesting to hear the change in my tone, I’m actually beginning to sound really depressing… not good, but at the same time kind of inevitable. This year truly has taught me a lot and I’ve lived a different life (not draaastically different, but most definitely not the same). Yes I’ve fallen off my bike, pretty hard once or twice, and I have scars to prove it, but I wouldn’t trade this year for anything. I’m so happy that I made this decision. And now (yes, yes, cue the broken record…) I’m leaving.

It’s funny looking back at my first day of school: “I feel like such an outsider, it’s weird to be in a place where you really don’t have any friends. You feel very alone… I just can’t help but think ‘Oh @!^#, what the *$#% did I get myself into?!’ Sure I had the balls to say that I want to be here, and don’t get me wrong, it’s a great opportunity, but it’s really scary now.” In the end it all turned out better than ok… English award, scholarship award for academic achievement, student of the quarter of the 11th grade for the 3rd quarter, high honors each quarter, MVP in soccer and volleyball, athlete of year, awards during spirit week, and most importantly some friendships that I hope will last until I die. People tell me and write in my yearbook that I am such an amazing person, I’m always smiling and my positive energy is contagious, I’m inspiring and have helped them realize their potential, they’ve never seen a single person make such a profound impact on a school and community. A lot of people don’t actually seem sincere to me, it’s more that they just say it to say it. A lot of people tell me how much they’ll miss me, and again I don’t know how sincere they are, because at the end of the day we really didn’t spend that much time together, which I really regret in retrospect. But there are those people who have really, genuinely touched me and make me struggle to fight back the tears. I know that graduation on Tuesday is a lost battle and I will let my tears flow gracefully: in great, heaving sobs :-).

Three more weeks.

Windows to the Soul

2006-06-26T00:04:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Driving and walking down the streets of Addis I often feel the pressure of eyes on me. Clean, healthy, comfortable. That’s me. I cross the street, or glance out of the window of a car as a big orange and red anbesa bus goes past. People crammed inside without room to move gaze at me intently, inquisitively, wondrously. I wonder what they’re thinking of me while they’re stuffed inside the stiflingly hot bus. Are the envious, curious, hateful? Am I just another person in the backdrop of their day? I know that I sound conceited and self-absorbed, but I never feel like people are simply indifferent when they see me. They observe me, but I don’t know why. Their eyes seem to be searching me, but I don’t know what for.

It’s frustrating to not always have answers, but I prefer not knowing the thoughts flickering behind those gazing strangers’ eyes than to understand the sadness their eyes sometimes fail to shield. There are times when a man will be selling something on the side of the road, puppies or beautiful wooden structures, which catch your eye. Your gaze lingers on his merchandise, and you can see him perk up, mentally straightening his tie, at the sight of a prospective customer. Heylo, heylo he calls to you as he waves his hands. How much does his little gadget probably cost, 20, 50, 100 birr? That’s nothing to you, but he lives day-to-day, and that 20, 50, 100 birr helps him get through today. Usually it’s just not worth it, you don’t have the time to take care of a puppy, you already have a dog, you’re leaving Ethiopia in a month, and so you just smile politely and shake your head no. You dismiss the item that caught your attention, and you will dismiss him as well, but as your eyes shift away from that man you catch a quick glimpse of the subtle transformation that sweeps across him. Most things are fairly hard to notice: his shoulders slump a bit as he sighs, he irritably kicks a stone, he fretfully clenches his jaw. It’s his eyes that are most telling, because now they fail to shield his sadness and disappointment. He longingly watches as you drive on down the bumpy road to your $15,000 a year school, and remains standing there on the side of the road with his merchandise in hand.

The End is Near

2006-06-26T00:02:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower,
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can stay.

-Robert Frost

Friday marked two weeks until the end of school. Prom is next Saturday the 27th at the Sheraton. The cafeteria that was supposed to open in January has finally opened and has had a successful first week. I had my first final exam, an English oral presentation, and received an A. I bought my yearbook and fought back the tears caused by memories dredged up by the pictures. Thursday the 18th marked the one-month countdown until I leave.

I know, I know, I’m a broken record, but I’m leaving. On June 18th I’m getting on a plane and leaving Ethiopia. I’m returning to Oakland.

I’m actually really excited to go back home. I miss driving, I miss grocery stores, I miss Mexican food (…and Chinese food, and smoothies, and real American sandwiches), I miss the view of the bay at night. Things are easy here in the sense that you don’t have to cook, clean, or wash anything, but I miss convenience in the sense of driving five minutes to Rite Aid to buy a bag of cotton balls for $2.00. I missed prom with my friends. I see their pictures, and everyone looked gorgeous, which I guess isn’t that hard, they’re 17. I hear them laughing in my head, imagine what it was like shopping for dresses, getting their hair done, at dinner. Yeah, our prom is this weekend, and the Sheraton will be beautiful… but people don’t even wear corsages here.

I’m actually ready to go home, I miss it. I’ve learned that at an international school, you are totally introduced to other cultures and your eyes are opened to so much more. I can recognize so many flags now. But what’s funny is that it also makes you that much more nationalistic. I have friends from all over the world, but I can commiserate with my American friends in a very different, much more personal way; we can talk about certain places, even restaurant chains like La Salsa and Baja Fresh, and things about American culture. As much as I hate American politics and how America stomps about the world, I have never been so proud to be American.

But I worry about what it will be like when I return home. Last year I wrote an essay about my anxiety over leaving for Ethiopia. In it I mentioned how scared I was to come home to too much change: “There is the possibility that home will become too much of something that it isn’t now, and I’ll no longer fit. I worry that while I’m gone life will go on too easily without me. I won’t be missed; I’ll be forgotten. After a year of absence and growth, my present friends and I will no longer know each other. I imagine returning home only to be the awkward girl that follows and clings on to people because she has no one. I am afraid of being left behind.” I do still have those fears; I know that it won’t be a simple, seamless transition, and that there will be an initial awkwardness with my friends. I can already see us sitting around and talking, when someone says, “Oh my god, remember last year when…”. This will happen, and this will be all that it takes to make me an outsider looking in on other peoples’ lives. But what if we change that quote around a little bit: “After a year of absence and growth, my home and I will no longer know each other.” I will never see things in the same way as I did before I left, and I blame this on Ethiopia; it has changed and shaded the way I view the world. But I will miss Ethiopia. The sad thing is, Ethiopia has taken my home as I once knew it away from me, and I can never get that back. And once I go back to that different home, the Ethiopia that I know, my version of Ethiopia, it will never exist. As excited as I am that I’ll be back here next January for my uncle’s wedding, I dread it as well, because it will be so different from my Ethiopia right now. Nothing gold can stay.

Leaving Ethiopia… leaving real injera, Amharic lessons, maids and drivers. Leaving ICS, swimming at the Sheraton, Abiy and his adorable baby. Leaving family, beggars, and unpaved roads. How many friends have I made that I’ll never see again? Do I write in their yearbooks ‘have a nice life!’??? Next year I can’t laugh with anyone while we speak broken English with heavy Ethiopian or West African accents. Everyone will have misconceptions about Africa and Ethiopia.

“We meet to part, and part to meet again.” – Anonymous bullshitter. This is life? A sequence of ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s and ‘have a nice life’s?

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Another anonymous-trying-to-make-the-best-out-of-nothing. We’re supposed to just look back fondly on memories, sigh and smile, and then pack up those memories, lose them in the dark, in the back of our hearts and minds, and just walk on forward. 30 years from now we’re supposed to be submissive, forget our dreams and principles and fight, forget the names of people we cry as we say goodbye to, forget they even existed. This is life?

Mr. Frost, you’re too right: nothing gold can stay. Give up, let go, start forgetting now. This is life.

"Technical Difficulties"

2006-06-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

Like all other Bloogers, Samra G! has been unable to post from Ethiopia due the man-made "technical difficulties" in accessing Blogger.com from Ethiopia. Most observers believe the Ethiopian government (with the help of the Chinese) has been blocking Blogger.com since most Ethiopian Bloogers are pro-opposition forces and anti-government. Samra will be back in the U.S. soon and will update her posting. In the meantime I am posting a speech she gave at her 8th grade graduation to keep her readers entertained. Like her teacher who spoke after her said, I wouldn't want to be the one speaking after her at any forum!

The proud papa G!

Ladies and Gentlemen, My Fellow Classmates:
Good Morning. We are gathered here today to celebrate a rite of passage, to acknowledge the end of the beginning of our long journey. Parents, do you remember just yesterday when your child was still waddling through the house with bulging diapers and a blankie in tow? Well, today, the Head-Royce 8th grade class of 2003 stands before you, no longer enthusiastically singing along with Barney and friends or practicing their best Power Rangers moves, but closing a door to our days of innocence and sneaking out of the window to high school. Although we have not yet stepped into the ripe age of adulthood, an exclusive land of dorm rooms and multiple cups of coffee to help with an all-nighter, leading into years of wisdom and dignified gray hairs, this promotion certainly does bring us one stride closer.
Over the past three tumultuous years of middle school we have experienced the good, the bad, and the ugly. Developmental issues such as raging hormones and physical insecurities make middle school chaotic enough. When you add the agonizing search for true identity and the quest for a little bit of privacy, made harder by parents who are reluctant to give up their babies to independence and freedom, it is a universal fact that middle school can feel torturous and alienating.
Furthermore, middle school is filled with the unexpected, a sheer shock from the easy life of elementary school, for we did not just receive a couple of scoops of ice cream; we were served a full sundae with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and a cherry to top it off. We were suddenly being faced with the responsibility of making our own choices and decisions, such as how to manage our time, especially for long-term projects, a task I have yet to conquer. We learned how to do last minute cramming when we just remembered about “the big test tomorrow”, and have often been greeted to Spanish class with a pop quiz. But moreover, we dealt with surprises such as September 11th and the ensuing war, catastrophically hitting us on a national level. As well, we suffered the tragic loss of the late Charlotte Frey, which continued slamming us to the ground.
But when someone is suffering and you see them with pain, it washes off on everyone, so each struggle we faced, we faced as a community; we comforted one another in our times of need, only making us that much stronger, because without the pain we would not have reaped the benefits of true friendship and a strong community.
Kahlil Gibran, a poet, philosopher, and artist born in Lebanon in 1883, wrote in his book The Prophet, “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
So, since the joy is appended with the sorrow, every day of middle school has not been disastrous. As a result, our class has been blessed by true characters such as Ryan Sullivan who applied for Middle School Head as a 6th grader when Mr. Aime departed. Also, we danced the nights away last year at the countless bar and bat mitvahs, many of us girls nearly breaking our ankles in our new high heels. More recently, the majority of the middle school, led by classmates Daniel Blake, Lisie Rosenberg, Alia Syed, and Will Roberts, twice displayed our support against the war by marching up Lincoln Avenue.

Finally, a wonderful trip to beautiful Catalina Island perfectly ended our middle school experience. Friendships were made and strengthened by all, whether in trail groups, free time, or a fantastic afternoon on the beach. But each gender also had their own particular ways of bonding. For the boys it was done over endless games of dominoes and rap battles, and for the girls it consisted of swapping clothes and staying up talking until two in the morning. To conclude our trip in Catalina, we happily drenched each other in a guys vs. girls water fight, which, of course, the ladies won. Fortunately, our class has had many fun times together, and has snapshots of fond memories to forever keep in the photo album of our minds.

Although we will always be able to reminisce about the events and happenings of middle school, we will also remember actual school life. I am sure that both parents and students remember the continuous battle over the quantity of homework last year, which caused quite a stir and much heated vocal discourse. The schoolwork continued to be strenuous this year with the myriad of long-term projects, particularly our various writing assignments in history and English. But our projects and assignments challenged us to become better learners and scholars, and we determinedly rose to the occasion, proving that we all have the ability to catch a shooting star and achieve our goals. The fine arts department in the middle school is filled with many gifted students, ranging from dedicated musicians in the band, to artists and actors, to vocalists who participated in the wonderful chorus last year. Everyone has graced us with fantastic performances and concerts. Lastly, sports play a significant role in middle school life at Head-Royce. There are many amazing athletes in our class, as is evident by the championships won by both our varsity boys and girls basketball teams, the varsity girls soccer team, and the boys baseball team. Way to go Jayhawks!

But the continuous academic, artistic, and athletic success of our class would not be possible without the constant support of our middle school head, Mr. Andy Jones-Wilkins. A remarkable man and a great middle school head, Mr. Jones-Wilkins consistently allows us to voice our opinions and stand up for our beliefs, whether it was resisting the backpack ban in the hallway last year or hosting rallies up Lincoln Avenue this year. He is strong, caring, and an inspirational speaker, and while dashing around making announcements in the mornings, he is almost always seen with a smile. Plus, Mr. Jones-Wilkins is even cooler because he can balance a chair on his chin! And how can we forget Francine Peters, officially the middle school administrative assistant, but basically the woman who keeps the middle school running. Of course she is scary when she yells at us to get to class, but she is an amazing person that nurses us when we suddenly have a stomachache, spoils us with phone calls home when we forget something, and serenades us from her desk throughout the day. Thank you so much Francine and Mr. Jones-Wilkins, we give you our everlasting gratitude.

Now that we have completed middle school, we embark upon our journey through high school, and many of us are filled with mixed emotions. A prevalent feeling is fear, whether it is of the upperclassmen, more challenging academics, or the transition in general. Greatly differing, there is passionate anxiety to get out of middle school and move towards something bigger and more thrilling. We are nervous yet calm, excited yet frightened, happy yet sad. Several students are leaving Head-Royce for high school, and we will surely miss each one of them, for we have shared one, two, or three years with them. But Kahlil Gibran also wrote, “When you part from your friend, you grieve not; for that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.” So, good luck to everyone graduating today as we begin our journey, and I hope you will always remember these five things: 1) dare to be different; 2) do not be afraid to tell your friends and family that you love them, because tomorrow you might not be able to; 3) listen to your parents, because sometimes, just sometimes, they might be right; 4) no matter how bad it gets, keep your head up, because the joy does come with the sorrow; and lastly, 5) nothing can stop you from catching your shooting star.
Parents, let’s take another walk down memory lane: do you remember your child’s first day of middle school? Their apprehension or exhilaration? Maybe they were a little bit pudgier back then, or a little bit shyer. Well, today is your child’s last day of middle school, and after three eventful years, each graduate has grown and blossomed into young men and women and developed into unique individuals. This is the end of the beginning of our long journey, and we stand at a threshold of a new chapter of our lives. Thank you all, family, friends, and teachers, for coming today and sharing this moment as we dive into the deep end. Your presence is greatly appreciated. Congratulations you guys; we made it! Thank you.

oXo oXo
X X X
o SaMrA o
X X
o

...

2006-05-07T03:00:00.000-07:00

I have always wanted to spend a year abroad, but in my mind I was undoubtedly going to Spain. When my parents suggested Ethiopia instead, during my freshman year, I wholeheartedly rejected it. I believe that in the eyes of the Western world, Africa is infected and tainted, riddled with disease, poverty, and corruption. Sadly my 14-year-old mind was biased with this viewpoint even though I had visited Ethiopia twice before and seen what it has to offer. Yes it’s true that Africa spends everyday combating AIDS and starvation while dishonest governments bask in luxury and wealth. But as I have learned, it also has much to offer. Even amidst the immense poverty there is a heart-wrenching kindness and hospitality among the people.

I see this every day in Ethiopia. There are many unspoken rules governing society and behavior, I guess they’re just supposed to be self-evident. If you have food, you have to share; if you see someone you know, you have to see hello, even if there are 20 people; NEVER talk back to an adult. Among these rules, there is one about these invisible threads that connect everyone to everyone, and I mean everyone, creating the complex tapestry of community. For example, I don’t remember a single day driving through Addis with Abiy when a friend of his hasn’t beeped hello from his parked taxi. Today as we were driving home Abiy honked his horn as he sped up the road, I had thought in order to warn a young man idly wandering into the middle of the street. He had his back to the oncoming traffic and was chatting with someone on the sidewalk, but as Abiy continued to honk, the young man spun around. He saw the little blue taxi sweep past, smiled, and waved. “My wife’s friend’s younger brother,” Abiy said as he waved back.

It’s interesting. I learn more about Ethiopian and “become more Ethiopian” everyday. And that’s good, I mean, isn’t that the main point of me being here? And I have grown to love Ethiopia, the herds of sheep crossing intersections with cars, the masses of people dressed in netela on their way to church, the chaos created on the road by the taxis and minibuses. Although separation from my family and my world has been hard, now my world has grown so much, and it has allowed me the chance to reflect upon and redefine my ideas of things like identity and home. If you have kept up with my blogs, you know that I have come to the conclusion that although I can proudly claim to be habesha now, and Ethiopia will always be a part of me, Oakland will always be my home. In her essay “Going to Japan,” Barbara Kingsolver writes: “To stomp about the world ignoring cultural differences is arrogant, to be sure, but perhaps there is another kind of arrogance in the presumption that we may ever really build a faultless bridge from one shore to another, or even know where the mist has ceded to landfall.” Sadly, or not sadly depending on how you look at things, I think that this is true. As much as we may try to create perfect harmony and understanding between countries, as much as I may want to be able to find a perfect balance between being raised as an American, but biologically half Ethiopian… I just don’t think that it’s possible.

Leaving

2006-04-21T12:09:00.000-07:00

Driving to school on Tuesday I realized that I leave Ethiopia in exactly two months. Driving to school on Wednesday instead of being frustrated by the traffic caused by the continually branching lanes of cars, I just laughed and felt good.

I wrote an email to my friend about my very cliché mixed feelings about leaving Ethiopia. I’m torn, my heart is in two places, I wish I could bounce back and forth between the two countries at my will. On the one hand I can’t wait to go home. On my bad days I’m counting down the minutes until I leave. While I’ve found a home in Addis, I will always be from Oakland. Even though I don’t like baseball, I’ll always be a fan of the A’s. And more than that, my family is there. Sure I have blood relatives in
Ethiopia, but there are so many people in Oakland who love me to death, know me inside and out, and are truly there for me. I have friends in Ethiopia, but they’re not the same as my friends of six years and more. But on the other hand, I want to stay in Ethiopia, and leaving will be so hard. I will miss the sights, the sounds, the smells, the feelings. I will miss the ridiculous morning traffic.

I stop to think about it all. Why will it be hard for me to leave? What exactly is it that this country has given me? Why do I feel bigger, stronger, wiser? What have I done here except live life? Wake up, dress, eat breakfast, go to school, sports, come home, shower, eat dinner, do homework, go to bed. What have I seen that makes me feel so different? Buses and taxis and streets of black faces looking back at me; starving babies at their mothers’ breast as she sits begging on the sidewalk; excited young faces running up to my window asking for a donation for their soccer team; sheep and donkeys languidly strolling along the road with cars zooming past (I hear a “what is Ethiopia” coming up… I suppose that will be my last blog… in 2 months...). But what makes those things special? Ok, so they’re definitely not things I saw everyday growing up, but they’re nothing extraordinary and life-changing. Is it just part of growing up, this feeling of a deeper understanding and intimacy with something more than yourself? Because that’s what this is: I laugh at the absurdities of Ethiopia, and I suffer from its misfortunes, yet I still see its undemanding beauty. I see it for what it is, I hate it for what it is, I love it for what it is. I will always be more American than Ethiopian, more white than black, more me than anyone else. So I suppose I will never truly be habesha in the sense of looking, acting, and speaking like a true habesha. But whatever it is that I have gleamed from this country, I will have forever. I will always remember my version of Ethiopia.

As someone just commented on a previous blog: here’s to finding and redefining ourselves.

Abiy

2006-04-03T02:39:00.000-07:00

Saturday, March 25, 2006

It’s funny how we find wonderful people in the most random places. I know that my family has grown so much during my time in Ethiopia. Maybe I met them at some foggy point in the past, or I’ve always been related to them, however distantly, but we’d never met, or I never even knew they existed, but somehow we have stumbled upon each other, and now here we are. Love means so much more than blood.

One of these people is our contract taxi driver, Abiy. Strikingly handsome, incredibly caring, and only usually punctual, he is a beautiful soul. When he was younger he was a potter, actor, and dancer, but in order to support his wife he bought a taxi. He now has a baby boy that is turning 1 in April. But Abiy still carries around a photo album, tucked in the back of his glove compartment. It’s filled with pictures of him dancing in costume and in the studio with clay smudged on his cheeks. They are souvenirs, wistful memories, dreams stifled and silenced by responsibility. My mind is constantly chattering with fantastic ideas, goals, aspirations… one day will they be barely audible? Simply whispers amidst my wrinkles and gray hairs?

Anyway, last night my grade had an “old skool” movie night at school, with “Mrs. Doubtfire” and “Cool Runnings.” It was quite the success, a lot of people came and we made almost 2,000 birr. I had asked my friend beforehand if she could give me a ride home afterwards and she sweetly and enthusiastically responded, “Yeah, of course Samriye!” But with 15 minutes left in the movie, at about 9:45 p.m., she told me that she couldn’t give me a ride. The movie had gone later than expected, her mom was calling and telling her to come home that instant, she was really sorry. Excuse me, but SHIT. I was screwed. It’s not so easy to get around in Ethiopia. I don’t have a driver, I can’t drive here, my mom doesn’t drive… We have Abiy, but I didn’t want to put him through the hassle of coming all the way back to ICS to pick me up when he had already picked up Sally and my mom. I talked to a couple of people, hinted that I need a ride home, but they don’t live by me. I was even more screwed. There wasn’t really anyone I feel close enough to to have asked for a ride home. Since most people only live about 5 minutes from school, they make a big deal of going to CMC, even though at night it’s only about 20 minutes from ICS. I was only even going to my aunt’s house, maybe 5 minutes closer from CMC depending on your travel route, but that would still be too much to ask.

I called Abiy. His wife picked up, told me that Abiy was asleep, and my voice was quavering as I said goodnight. Maybe I get worked up over small things, maybe this wasn’t something to cry about, but as a 17-year-old girl I don’t want to be stranded on the other side of Addis at 10:30 at night with no way to get home except taking a random taxi. Which I absolutely was not about to do. I hate my lack of ability here, my dependence on others to get things done… driving, shopping, even talking and communicating.

But I guess I’m lucky or I’ve done enough good in the world, because Abiy called me back a few minutes later. His wife had woken him up and told him I’d called. He was at ICS 30 minutes later, and I was one of the last three people there. He groggily smiled and told me that he had rushed out of bed to come get me; he even still had his pajamas on beneath a shirt and a jacket. He said that he is my telick wendim, my big brother, and besides, he promised my dad that he would get me, whenever, wherever, regardless. I apologized and thanked him numerous times, told him what had happened, and he shook his head and sighed, “She is not a good girl, I do not like her.” We arrived home and one last time I said, “Betam amesegenalehu, betam yekerta. Thank you so much, I’m so sorry.” He said, “Of course, it’s no problem. Dehna derri.” “Dehna derr.” Goodnight.

Once in bed my mom told me that when Abiy had picked her up he was very happy. Sally ended up getting a ride home with her dad, so Abiy didn’t have to take her all the way to CMC in the evening traffic. He hadn’t been able to eat lunch and had been working since 6 a.m., so all he had to do was drop off my mom (he lives in the same neighborhood as us), and then he could go home, eat, and go to bed. The way I see it, either Abiy’s just an incredible person and takes his work very seriously to have picked me up at 11, or my dad threatened some pretty scary things if the whole “whenever, wherever, regardless” thing didn’t happen. Just because my dad’s on the other side of the world doesn’t mean he doesn’t have connections in Ethiopia… Haha, but seriously, Abiy is a wonderful person, and it’s not just that he takes his work seriously, it’s that he really cares.

It’s funny how we find wonderful people in the most random places. Even a little blue and white taxi, just one among thousands, on the streets of Addis. My family has grown so much during my time in Ethiopia; someone I never even knew existed is now my telick wendim. Love means so much more than blood.

Soccer and God

2006-03-20T23:00:00.000-08:00

My mom has returned to Ethiopia! Before she arrived I had been playing soccer at CMC a lot. For the longest time I had wanted to play with the boys at CMC but was too scared to ask, too scared of their rejection, too scared of not being good enough. But one day when we had no school we informally started playing and I proved myself to them. I was playing with boys of all ages, from 9 to 14 and then from 18 to 22. From then on I was always welcome to play with them, and after school I would put on my cleats as quickly as possible and rush out to the field.

Skinny brown legs grayed by the dust can always be seen kicking around a soccer ball here in Addis. Young boys will push and shove each other along the rocky, unpaved residential streets, a ball at their feet. Big empty fields of dust and stones are filled with young Ethiopian men or women sprinting back and forth; they gracefully maneuver the ball with experience and ease, their feet moving it so gently and effortlessly. It is impossible to drive five minutes in Addis without seeing a group of people playing soccer. After God, food, and family, soccer is probably the most revered thing among Ethiopians.

But playing with the boys in CMC was a lot of fun, and in the week that I was playing with them I actually improved quite a bit, both at soccer and Amharic. Even though most of them can at least speak a bit of English, it is only ever spoken to translate for me. When beginning a game at least half of us will quickly sit down exasperated, and pick at the grass or see how far we can throw pebbles; it’s always hard to begin playing because the little boys always find something to argue about. At times these explode into real fights, and their small arms will swing through the air, their dirty nails will cut into each others’ skin, they will run and do a karate jump. Their anger so convinces them, and that they are able to throw such hard, straight punches, their arms slice through the air with great precision. Belo, belo, belo! Fight, fight, fight! The other boys will tauntingly yell in attempts to further provoke the fight. Finally someone will pull the boys apart, enechawot, let’s play! And the game will begin. We run up and down, side-to-side, wary of obstacles like rocks, random plants, the swings and slides, and little babies excitedly waddling into our game. Izhiyga, wust! Here, inside! Some days we play until we are too tired. Some days we play until we’ve decided that more time is spent fighting than playing. Some days we play until it is so dark that it is impossible to score, and people are just solid objects moving in the night. Now I miss playing with them. And I miss them. Yeah, sometimes they were annoying, they’re little boys. But that’s what a brother’s like. One Sunday afternoon they actually came to my house and called me out to play with them. Maybe it’s childish, maybe it’s that human need for acceptance, but it meant a lot to me.

Unfortunately for me, one of the days that I was playing with them, I ended up spraining my left ankle pretty badly. My right ankle was already sprained so bad that I had to wear a cast for a month in 7th grade. I can’t help but feel that I’m falling apart. And on top of that, what bad timing! Soccer season at school is just about to start, and I’m soooo excited. Couldn’t I have hurt myself during basketball season… For those of you who don’t know, I don’t play basketball. Anyway, it’s been 2 weeks since I hurt it. I went 1 _ weeks without doing anything aerobic, but I can’t handle that immobility, I’m not ready to walk with a cane yet. So the other day I decided to go up to the track and walk a few laps. After walking 6 laps I decided to be daring, and I began to “jog” 3. After 3 laps of my hobble-limp-jog around the track my ankle hurt too much for “daring” to be appealing any longer. And I felt like an old woman. And completely NOT in the words of any wrinkly, gray, incapable old person: that sucked. Call me immature or superficial, I don’t care, but I went home and cried.

Our maid, Zeritu, was very troubled by my crying. She’s honestly one of the sweetest people alive. Her eyebrows instantly furrowed in worry, and her face instantly morphed into wrinkles of concern. She got cocoa butter and began massaging out my ankle. Wi, wi, wi… ahun igerish dehna newo? Ay yay yay, now how is your foot? She would constantly ask. Then she would say something along the lines of either “your pain is my pain” or “let me have your pain.”

I went to bed, and about an hour later I hear Zeritu, “Samra, tenyash?” Samra, are you asleep? I was asleep. But she came into the room, switched on the light, and again, “Tenyash?” I groaned in response. She walked over to the bed and pulled the covers off of me. In her hand was a large, old tin can filled with water. “Weddeh christiane bet heydooh. I went to church,” she said happily. I’m pretty sure that she goes nearly every night right now because it’s fasting time, but it turns out she had brought back holy water for me. She dipped her hand into it, and splashed it on my ankle while murmuring, “Beh Egziabheir leSamra yemarech… God please heal Samra…” and went on along the lines of that. For all the Ethiopians reading this, sorry for my broken Amharic. After a minute or two of this she put the covers back on, said goodnight, and turned off the light.

I turned over onto my stomach and delicately placed my ankle on the mattress, trying to twist it as little as possible. Even though I’m not religious, I really hoped that I would wake up the next morning and be completely healed. Something about the intensely zealous trust and faith that Ethiopians put in God’s power is infiltrating my own not-quite-cemented beliefs. It’s slight, nearly undetectable, but I am increasingly aware of this enigmatic, mysteriously powerful man, divinity, whatever you want to call Him. It’s not that I’m suddenly religious and want to devote myself to God’s will, but I can’t help but wonder What if…? I woke up the next morning with a stiff ankle, still sore and rolling as I walked around. It hurt a little less, but who will ever know if I just fabricated that in my mind out of my yearning to be better? That afternoon I went to the clinic to get it looked at.

Look Both Ways Before Crossing the Street

2006-02-13T01:41:00.000-08:00

Ahhhh, I can’t believe it’s been a month since I posted! Why do I suck at this??? Anyway, this one I thought I had posted on February 13, but apparently I only saved it as a draft… enjoy, and check back Monday or Tuesday for a new one…

We were on our way to school. Slow Ethiopian instrumental ballads serenaded us from the radio, but it was a more silent drive than usual. Sally and I were both staring out of our windows, lost in our thoughts, our minds racing along with the cars around us. Ironically, I was thinking about driving in Ethiopia, wondering if my mom would get a license when she returned, feeling confident that, after having been driven around for months and observing the way things work, I could even hold my own behind the wheel on the streets of Addis.

We came upon a narrow road that was heavily backed up with traffic. My eyes remained fixed outside of my window, but I wasn’t absorbing anything that I was seeing as we slowly glided forward and stopped, glided forward and stopped, glided forward and stopped our way up the hill.

I don’t know what it was that made me turn my head, Abiy nervously stammering, “shit, shit,” under his breath, or the drawn-out, high-pitched screech that resounded through the air. I turned my head and saw the silver bumper of the old VW bug gleaming menacingly in the early-morning sun, the young woman awkwardly sprawled on the ground beneath it, the wood that she must have been carrying scattered around her, lying like broken bones and broken dreams. And I didn’t know if the screech that I had heard was the squealing of the car tires as the man driving slammed on his brakes, or the scream of the girl as she tried to force her feet to move faster, terror, regret, and anxiety surely burning in both their eyes.

A woman ran up and tried to lift the young lady, but she lay limp and motionless in her arms; her head tilted back on her neck, and slowly rolled back and forth like a door being swung open and shut by a draft of wind; her arms fell slack at her side, and her face was empty, her eyelids gently closed. A trickle of by-standers began to dam up around the girl until the crowd was so thick that she was no longer visible. As we drove on, Abiy told a police officer that was conducting traffic what had happened.

It was a more silent drive than usual. But the dead silence in the little blue taxi was now heavy and inundated with our screaming thoughts. We simply stared out of our windows.

It's Never Too Late

2006-02-13T01:39:00.000-08:00

February 6, 2006

These past few weeks have been really important to me. A lot has happened. For one thing, despite how daunting my overwhelming workload appeared after my return from the States, I didn’t let it weigh me down, I didn’t give up. I diligently worked through it all, sacrificing my weekends and the always-occurring parties. Granted, I do still have both an anthropology presentation and an English presentation (both of which are causing me great grief), but my hard work paid off for everything else: I’ve aced all of my tests and projects so far. It actually feels really nice. And, as scary as it is, I’m really beginning to feel like an adult: accountable, hard-working, striving towards a goal. I still did my fair share of procrastination, but… I did it responsibly I guess J.

As for a fun side of life, this week is spirit week! Today was crazy day, and it’s been really fun so far. My class in incredible, they’re just so spirited, and it’s nice to know that they resemble HRS in that respect. We totally blew the other grades out of the water. Each class does skits every day at lunch, and ours was HILAAARIOUS. And I had a great little part, and thus tied for best girl of the day! It made me so happy, especially because you get money!!! Tomorrow’s student-teacher swap day, Wednesday’s gender swap day, Thursday’s class theme day, and Friday’s class color day. I’m going to dress up as Ms. Aida, the beautiful Ethiopian French teacher, who is also my soccer coach. Basically I just have to look sophisticated and elegant. Gender swap day I’m going alllll out! I’m wearing the white air forces, an XXL white tee, baggy jeans, a NICE RocaWear jacket, and Betty’s going to cornrow my hair. Oh, and I’m gonna have my bling bling: I’m borrowing a chain and some earrings… It basically rocks. Our class theme is “bring the dead back to life” and I’m Angela Davis. Basically all that I’m doing is brushing out my hair into a HUUUGE afro, wearing a lot of my mom’s old jewelry from the 60’s and 70’s, jeans, and my hot hippie halter… The thing about spirit week is that I actually need to have the clothing for my outfit within my wardrobe. It’s times like these that I miss my mom and dad’s closet. And finally, our class color is blue. I think it’s going to be a fun week.

I’ve also learned a lot about being mature and acting sensibly. Nearly since my return to Addis I have not been on speaking terms with a friend of mine. I won’t go into detail as to why that is, but he had not honored his word to me, he conveniently forgot to tell me things that I would consider important regarding our relationship (they weren’t good things), and he ultimately just hurt me a lot. So, I decided if he wasn’t willing to really talk to me, then I wouldn’t bother talking to him. Or acknowledge him. At all. When he was ready to grow up and fess up to his wrongs I would be entirely open to discussion, but until then I would ignore him. All this while I was harboring anger, resentment, and hurt towards him and it just sat in me like stagnant water. It grew murkier, flies began to gather, and an odd stench emanated from it. It was the reek of pain, my own pain. By letting those bad feelings fester inside of me, my happiness and wholeness just rot away. Sure I was hurting him, but I was hurting myself more. And ignoring him and cutting him out of my life while maintaining a solid façade didn’t show my strength. I fooled myself into believing that I would “be strong” and simply forget about him. But I hadn’t forgotten about him, I was still hurting inside. I was really being weak. The strong thing to do was to forgive him, to talk to him, to rebuild some semblance of a relationship. I knew that all along, but the dominant part of my brain just seems to be stubborn and self-absorbed; this tends to displace most of my sanity and sensibility. After the voice of wisdom really got this point into my head, I forgave him. Not to his face, not out loud, but within myself I forgave him by releasing myself of all of my anger towards him. Even though we didn’t talk at school today, my energy towards him was markedly different: it was softer, calmer, lighter. It felt really nice. And then after school he approached me and apologized. The ability to forgive is great. It’s something we all need to truly embrace in our lives.

As my boy Michael Franti says: “It’s never too late to start the day over / it’s never too late to pick up the phone / it’s never too late to lay your head down on my shoulders / it’s never too late to come on home. Come on home.”

Stuck in Limbo

2006-02-03T01:54:00.000-08:00

First of all, please excuse my last blog… I mainly used it to vent out all of my frustration and anxiety about schoolwork. And moving on…

I have gotten three letters from friends in the States in response to my “Winter Holiday” blog. Each of them was unique, but the beautiful thing was that they all were so completely honest and open. I felt that these three people really bared themselves to me, commiserated and sympathized with me in regards to my feelings, told me how that blog made them think and question things as well. It was incredibly touching and meant a lot to me, not only to see the power of my words, but also that these people felt comfortable enough to share those thoughts with me. You know who you are. Thank you.

Nonetheless, I do feel that I have some explaining to do. Granted, I received three very positive letters, but there are some people who I just have not heard from. People who mean a lot me. And I’m not sure if it’s because of what I wrote, or simply because between school and life, finding spare time to relax or write an email is a very rare luxury. I was very hesitant to post my “Winter Holiday” blog; I was worried about its repercussions, that it might hurt or offend people. So, to anyone that I may have upset, I’m very sorry. It was not targeted at anyone in particular. I just felt that I needed to somehow give an explanation to some people in regards to my “odd” behavior at times, but I don’t know, maybe it only made things worse. As my dad reminded me, this is a “public journal, not a private diary.”

But the thing is, it was something that I wanted to share. It was the truth. I want people to be able to understand and see how I’m changing, how Ethiopia is beginning to alter me. The East Bay/Oakland is still my favorite place in the world, I wouldn’t consider raising my children anywhere else. I still feel completely “at home” in the hallways of Head-Royce, I even think I can be more myself around my friends at home. Only more myself, not completely myself, because Ethiopia has changed me. I haven’t figured everything out yet, but I know that the time I’ve spent in Addis has given me a confidence that I didn’t have before. Sorry to get controversial again, but last year was a crucial time for me grow: between my American history class and my English class, from watching movies like “Bamboozled” and “Hotel Rwanda,” and reading books like Beloved and Reservation Blues, I finally realized race. I began to more fully understand the horrible things that have happened because of the color of one’s skin, and how that still thrives today. I have still yet to be directly confronted with racism, but there are certainly times where the world seems impossible. This only becomes more confusing because I’m half white, because why should things be any different based on the way we look, because race is actually socially constructed and has no biological basis. In Ethiopia I know that I can walk down the street with my head held high: I am just the same as everyone else, slightly qay, light-skinned, (in fact, people call me “white,” which is the weirdest thing for me) but abesha, Ethiopian. I can truly be beautiful and feel beautiful. Now, I think that the East Bay and Head-Royce should be applauded in their diversity and appreciation for it, but racism is too deeply ingrained in American society for it to be completely nonexistent within my community, however unconscious it may be. I believe that my friends and my parents’ friends are wonderful people, and they are our friends because race is not an issue. But simply being in the States changes everything. As much as I love Montclair, I can’t help but feel a little out of place as I’m crossing the street, a little on edge. The problem is that I don’t feel any more comfortable on E 14th.

I don't know... maybe this comes off as more extreme than I mean for it to be... but the fact of the matter is that in Ethiopia I completely fit on, I'm a part of everyone and everyone is a part of me. We are Ethiopian Many people take for granted the feeling of truly belonging. It's very powerful.

…I’m tired now, perhaps more on this subject in the near future.

Yeney Addis Ababa

2006-01-31T02:27:00.000-08:00

1/24/06

Well, I successfully survived my first week. More or less anyhow. Actually, in all honesty, last week wasn’t so bad. But then I realized just HOW much work I’m suddenly being completely inundated with. Let’s see, I had this ridiculous IB Math Project due on Monday, but she let us turn it in today, Tuesday. Tomorrow, Wednesday, I have a math quiz… lucky me, on a section in our book that I haven’t done yet! Friday I have an in-class essay on the book that we read. Next Monday I have a math test (maybe you can see the common trend of how RIDICULOUSLY RIDICULOUS my math class is… but I actually really do enjoy it, although my grade dropped from a nearly A+ to an A- over the course of the semester). Next Tuesday I have a biology test… on things that I haven’t learned, because my teacher just doesn’t teach… but he’s actually getting a lot better, it’s nice to see, and definitely heartening for me. Next Wednesday I have a history oral presentation, and for some reason I chose the most boring topic. The following Tuesday I have an anthropology oral presentation, and THIS I’m excited for! We get to be “creative,” and the topic is race and ethnicity, so I’m going to interview (hopefully I’ll get to videotape it) a few of my friends at school on what’s it’s like to be multiracial. Then that same day I also have an English oral presentation on a book that I’ve only just started… Yeah, life’s a bitch… so, as the saying goes, just fuck it… sorry to any of my PG readers. But actually, that’s just so not true, I can’t just say fuck it, I can’t blow this off, which kind of sucks, but you know, no, it really doesn’t. Sorry, my thoughts are rather scattered, I’m fairly tired. Oh yeah, that’s one funny thing: I adjusted to the time pretty much right away, and I don’t think it’s because the No-Jet-Lag pills worked wonders. I guess at this point my body is just so used to going back and forth (even though it was only my 3rd transition) that I didn’t have any problems. Also I just jumped right into life; I arrived in Addis at 3 a.m. Saturday morning and was up at 6 a.m. on Monday to go to school. Sooo, the whole point of this has been to say that I’m not going to school tomorrow. It feels rather nice to think about it, actually J. The jet-lag is kind of catching up with me… kind of… no, honestly, I am rather tired, everything’s been really busy recently. Moreover, I can have time to catch up a bit on my projects, which I desperately need. You can think “oh, she has the weekend for thaaat,” but come on now, since when has the weekend ever been sufficient time to take care of everything that you need to do? Never. Once you fall behind you just can’t catch up without taking time off. Which then makes you fall behind a bit more. But the idea is that when you take time off you’re able to make a bigger gain than what you’ll lose. Exactly. Yes, exactly.

So, besides all of that boring stuff, anything interesting going on in my life? Ahh, I’m getting MUCH better at Amharic! It’s actually fairly awesome, I can talk! Haha, it’s a great feeling. It does get really frustrating sometimes because people see me and expect me to be able to understand what they’re saying and respond, but more often than not, I just have absolutely no idea what they’re saying to me. But now, I’m getting sooo much better, and it’s just very fulfilling. What else? My brain just isn’t functioning properly right now. Betty and her mom are in Dubai for a week, so it’s been fairly quiet around here. Ahhh, next year is going to be SO much fun! So, there are these potters at school giving lessons, but they also make stuff while they’re there, and they have some absolutely GORGEOUS things! There are really nice plates, pots, etc., all for only around 30 birr… which is about 3 dollars… it’s ridiculous, they could be sold in the states for $30! It’s sooo sad, their work is beautiful, but in Ethiopia art isn’t really appreciated as something worthwhile. Honestly, there’s a huge niche in Ethiopian art. So many different things can be made fashionable: beautiful church paintings could be incredible wrapping paper, the things that the potters make could be used to decorate homes, and they could make Christmas tree decorations, the silver and gold jewelry could be HUGE, and they could turn it into picture frames with the crosses and specific decorations etched into them…. Ahhh, all of these are just very simple things, but it could be a very, very big market. Ethiopian clothing also: at least the fabrics can be used in modernized designs, not for traditional clothing, but for regular clothing that you’d just wear, or at least special occasion dresses, etc. SOMEONE can monopolize this, make a fortune for themselves, and then give it back to Ethiopia somehow. I swear, all I want is just to see a stronger, happier Ethiopia. There are so many problems ravaging it, and at least issues like poverty, starvation, and AIDS can be eased by a project like this, especially if it proved to be really lucrative. Ethiopia itself needs to just grow economically, suddenly find something it has that’s outrageously profitable in the world market, and just blossom. Addis Ababa means “New Flower,” but I don’t think it’s getting enough sun or water or something, because it just seems wilted to me. It’s pulsing with so much cultural diversity, it has so much to offer, but no one truly sees it and it’s just not getting anywhere. I want to help Ethiopia, I just feel like there’s so much room for it to grow and evolve and be strong. It’s frustrating, this feeling of helplessness. Well, I guess we’ll just wait to see what’s waiting in the future.

Winter Holiday

2006-01-16T04:38:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s been such a long time that not only do I not know where to begin, I’m not sure that I even remember how to… so I guess I’ll just delve in… My first day back in Addis has been really nice. It was easy, relaxing, comfortable. It felt right. Unfortunately tomorrow will be completely spent doing math homework, blahhh. And so it goes. It’s funny, after being so excited to come back to Ethiopia and see everyone again and (surprisingly!) go to school, and just generally be occupied and busy and stimulated, now I don’t want to go to school. I’m sure that once I get there on Monday I’ll be happy…

Anyhow, I suppose I have a bit of backtracking to do. December 16, the day that school let out for the winter holiday, mom and I headed off to Bole Airport to return to California. All day I was blissfully counting down the hours, in the morning I even felt slightly defeated because the 18-hour wait until our 1 a.m. flight seemed impossibly long. Many can attest to my ecstatic and beaming face, way more intense and creepy than any Stepford wife, while incessantly chirping at random times throughout the day: “I’M GOING HOME TONIGHT!” At one point I said this to a couple of my guy friends who happen to be Ethiopian. One of them looked at me hard, yet I couldn’t tell whether or not he was actually trying to be serious because of his sleazy grin. However, he’s a fairly happy-go-lucky guy and enjoys hitting on girls, so that smile does seem to be permanently plastered on his face. Carrying on, he looked at me hard and said, “Home? This is your home,” he fervently jabbed a finger at the ground, “Ethiopia is your home.” He said this with passion. And people are only ever half-joking. I responded by telling him that I’m only half Ethiopian, I’ve attended the same school for the past five years, I’ve lived my entire life in Oakland, California. I’ve only been in Addis for the past five months. He didn’t say anything.

But something funny happened. I got back to California and I was excited and happy to be home, more than happy for a break. Driving down the freeway felt so right: I knew everything I saw, I knew exactly where we would turn, I was home. As soon as we got back to the house I took a shower in my parents’ bathroom, only to be greeted to the warm laughter of 15 of my friends at the front door as I was walking back to my room with only a towel wrapped around me. Needless to say, I tore across the hallway into my bedroom. I returned clothed to my “welcoming committee,” and felt nothing short of an extremely loved princess, receiving phone calls and cupcakes. Definitely an ego-boosting moment. Not to mention an incredibly nice memory. So the next week commenced beautifully, with some of my really good friends returning from vacationing, going shopping, eating food that I dearly missed, and just enjoying the comfort of my native soil. Then the paradise of the honeymoon wore off: I got bored and sad. I’m still sifting through this. I wasn’t exercising, which makes me feel sluggish; I missed schoolwork and mental stimulation; I kept thinking of Ethiopia; I felt out of place among my friends. I was already expecting to feel… not necessarily left out, but rather apart, yet that didn’t mean that I actually knew how that would feel. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it wasn’t nice. Someone asked me one day if I felt that people had changed. I hastily said “yes,” but after thinking about it for a moment, I said that most people hadn’t really changed, but I had, and that made all the difference. I no longer see things the same way, and thus there are some people that I can’t see the same way. I still dearly love them, but I don’t think that I can necessarily relate to them the way I used to. Oftentimes I found myself closing in, not talking much, desperately wanting to not be there. Everything, everything, was too much the same. What’s odd though, is that I don’t even really think that I’ve changed all that much… at first people said that I had bit of an accent, and many commented on my increased maturity and sophistication. I don’t feel much more mature or sophisticated, and despite feeling that I somehow have changed, I absolutely cannot declare that this is how I’ve changed and this is why. I’m still me, Samra G! Which is why I’m still sifting through all of this. All I know is that I just wanted to come back to Ethiopia, because after awhile I wasn’t really happy in Oakland anymore. Home is…

It’s funny, when I returned to California I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Everyone kept asking for stories, and I sadly failed on fulfilling that common request. The problem was, being here in Ethiopia is just life. I wake up, I go to school, I do something after school, I come home and do homework, I go to bed. What’s different is that there are other random things thrown in: a new environment, new people, various parties, tournaments in South Africa, political turmoil. But still, it’s my life, and only over a lifetime do you truly gather myriad attention-grabbing stories. If even. And besides, Ethiopia seemed so far away. Ethiopia and California are two completely different worlds, separated not only by mountains and oceans and other peoples lives, but by a distance that lives in your heart and your mind, a knowledge that consumes that your body… I don’t know, but when I was in Oakland, Ethiopia just didn’t seem real, simply another one of my silly dreams. It’s funny how this happens, how the past rusts and fades in my memories. Or rather, it becomes faint whispers of something that has happened, maybe only something that could have happened… when I reach out to grab them… well, whispers are fairly hard to catch. So ultimately, I almost want someone to tell me what the point is.

I’m sifting and I’m drifting, surrounded by the sea, and the answers don’t lie here. Luckily I have no bricks to drown me. Hopefully I’m heading somewhere, but I don’t think that I’ll ever get all of the answers that I want. For now I need to get adjusted to the time… and it’s almost 2 a.m.

More Pictures...

2006-01-08T23:40:00.000-08:00

2006-01-08T23:33:00.000-08:00

More Pictures...

2006-01-08T23:28:00.000-08:00

More Pictures...

2006-01-08T23:21:00.000-08:00

More Pictures...

2006-01-08T23:10:00.000-08:00

What is the Truth?

2005-12-02T03:10:00.000-08:00

What is identity?

Identity = Haile + Marsha. It is Samra G! It's still JambaJuice, La Salsa, Grinders, and Italian Colors. It's chorus, soccer, and volleyball. Identity is loving harmony in all aspecs of my life: singing, but also physically, mentally, and emotionally. It is three special bracelets that I wear everyday on my left wrist, all presents from three special women. It is having soft, smooth, arms that I love that other people love. It's my digital camera... that I lost. Identity is making great pb&j's, and eating way too many. It is not being able to wait to be an amazing mom, wanting three kids, and looking forward to dressing them all in the cutiest, funkiest clothes. It's big, crazy curly hair, a funny ear, stretch marks on my hips, and a weird lisp thing. Identity is loving music and appreciating the arts. It's being a fine food afficionado. It is a terrible shopping addiction, unfortunately for my parents, particularly to expensive clothing. Identity is ADHD, ODD, John Muir Medical Center, bipolar, Colorado. It is loving too hard and, more often than not, suffering from the backlash. It is loving bright colors, but often feeling dark. It's the East Bay and HRS, Addis and ICS. It's everyone that I meet, everything I see, each thing I experience. My identity is reduced for many of you to an assortment of empty words t hat I strew together in an attempt to sew some sort of meaning.

Family. Home. Identity.

And what is the truth? Somehow all of these concepts have changed for me. I now realize how fickle they are, that they're constantly changing. I have known someone for only three months, and already she's my sister. As much as I love my home and am excited to go back IN ONLY 2 WEEKS, I honestly wouldn't mind staying in Addis for the holiday. And my identity? Who I am is always transforming as I learn and grow. I used to fancy myself as a woman of the world, but that was largely because I wanted to avoid defining myself as black, mixed, white, Ethiopian American; I didn't want to confine myself to some check-mark on a standardized exam. Now I realize how naive and ignorant I was in my perception. While I valued diversity and had traveled some, what did I truly know about the world? Attending an incredibly international school in Ethiopia opens my eyes to so much more, yet I still don't believe that I can fairly call myself "a woman of the world." Sure, it may be the easy way out, but when do we ever really know who we are? We have our body, our experiences, our morals. Yet each day brings us something new. We are always blooming, always adapting, never the same. I am Samra G! I am half Ethiopian and half white-American. I have lived my whole life until this year in Oakland, California. I have DNA and certain experiences that differentiate me from the rest of the population of this planet, but from there I'm just a sheet of paper. There are some things scribbled on me, some things that have been erased, still a lot of blank room for change. And you know, that's ok. That's ok.

Found

2005-11-22T02:09:00.000-08:00

Well, my mommy is here. And it’s nice. I feel centered and strong. As silly-hippiesh as it sounds. But I was straying, despite all the fun that I was having. I’m still only 16. Well, nearly 17. As much as I would like to believe I am oh-so grown-up, sophisticated, and mature. Independence is not quite as easy as it seems. It becomes too easy to get lost when you are alone. You no longer have those tall shadows gently prodding at your heels, guiding you. But now everything will be all right. I can draw strength from her touch, faith from her presence, bliss from her love. Yeah. I am found.

Tournaments and Turbulence

2005-11-14T02:20:00.000-08:00

Written on Tuesday, November 8, 2005

Wow, with so much to say, where do I even begin? Hmm, I suppose first we’ll do South Africa. So, I arrived back at Addis yesterday morning. The flight was hellish. We had woken up at 7 on Sunday morning, been out shopping and watching a movie all day, and then had a midnight flight from Joburg to Nairobi. We arrived at Nairobi about 5:45 in the morning, and yes it was fairly impossible to sleep decently on the plane. Then we had about a one-and-a-half-hour layover in the airport there, and then left for Addis. We got in around 10 a.m.

Anyway, South Africa was so much fun. The tournament was great, and the girls actually placed really well. We got second place in volleyball (and we could have won it all), and fourth place in soccer. This is out of 6 teams. But 4th sounds a lot worse than it actually is. We were the 5th seed, we played the 4th seed, and the winner of that match would play the number 1 seed, and the winner of that would go on to play the championship round, the loser would play for 3rd place. The 3rd seed played the 6th seed, the winner would play the 2nd seed, the winner would go on to the championship round, the loser would play for 3rd. So, as I said we were the 5th seed and played the 4th seed, LISU, the International School of Uganda. Don’t ask me what the “l” stands for. I scored two goals, one of them was a beautiful left footer that went right into the right corner of the goal, and we won the game 2-0. We went on to play the number one seed, who we had lost to 1-0 the day before, but we really made them work hard. At the end of the game we were still tied 0-0, so we went into 10 minutes of sudden death overtime. We switched sides at 5 minutes, and at the end of the full ten, the game was still 0-0. So, we took penalty shots, since it was 6-a-side-soccer, five players from each team would shoot on the other team’s goalie. The other team, ISK, International School of Kenya, made their very first goal, and no others. We made none. Thus the game was over. We played for 3rd place and lost 1-0. ISK went on to win the soccer championship versus AISJ, the American International School of Johannesburg, the host school, and they also later beat us in 3 sets of volleyball.

As disappointing as it was to not win when we were so close and could have done so well, I am really proud of my team. We played really well and put so much spirit into what we were doing. Also, we won the sportsmanship award for being so spirited. We were always cheering each other on with our dorky but really fun cheers, and whenever we were down we were always trying to pick each other back up. After every game, win or lose, we had a tradition of doing our Seleme cheer. It’s an Ethiopian cheer that you hear a lot at track races and whatnot, and it’s really simple. One person calls “Seleme, seleme” and the rest of the team responds “oye seleme, aha.” It has a certain tune/incantation to it, and is really nice. We added our own twist at the end of it by going “aha” “aha aha” back and forth, back and forth. So, after every game we would get into a circle with our arms linked around each others’ backs and sing seleme, walking around, and at the end jumping and clapping our hands. It became a really nice tradition, and all of the teams loved it. Near the end of the tournament, teams even joined us in it. So, we were really liked by everyone for our good spirit, and we got to meet some pretty cool people from other schools. I also made the all-star team for volleyball.

So, yeah, South Africa rocked. It was really nice to be back in a fairly 1st world country. People actually drove within their lane, even if they were driving in the wrong direction (it’s British style where the driver’s seat is on the right side, and so you drive up on the left side, instead of down… if that makes sense). One scary thing that happened was that I fainted. AISJ used to be a boarding school, and the first night we got in to Joburg too late to go to our host family’s homes, so we instead stayed at the school in the dorms, the boys in the gym. The next morning I woke up earlier than we had to, so I decided to seize the opportunity and take a shower since I had the time and the showers were open. As I was showering I slammed my elbow on the hot water handle, and it just hit a nerve. My entire arm went limp and felt really heavy; I tried to move it, but I couldn’t, it was too hard and hurt too much. I began to feel really dizzy and felt like I needed to barf, and thought to myself that I should probably get out of the shower. But there was this other reasoning voice in my head that told me “no, you have to stay, you haven’t finished your shower yet.” So I kept on showering, and suddenly found myself slumped on the floor with my back against the shower door. I got up and started showering again, but next thing I know I was back on the floor and two girls Sarah and Thea had opened the door and were helping me to get up, to get out. They told me to go sit on top of the toilet seat and take a breath, and someone went to get a teacher. Next thing I knew I was again sprawled on the floor next to the toilet and Ms. Ashby was hovering over me. After that I was fine, I made it to my room, drank some water, had some raisins and little snacks, but it was really scary. I wouldn’t have fainted in the shower had I not slammed my elbow, that seemed to be the catalyst; but I also probably wouldn’t have fainted if I wasn’t under the conditions that I was: exhaustion from traveling, I was probably dehydrated, and a lot of stress from a number of things. It was my first time fainting, but hey, I’m still here. Anyway, we got to go shopping, we saw a movie, and we went to the apartheid museum (which sounds like it would be really cool, but it kind of sucked). Speaking of apartheid, sure it’s over, but it’s only been a little over 10 years. I could still see a rift between black and white. It all seemed very segregated; even at AISJ, not many South Africans attend the school. I just didn’t feel comfortable with myself. Maybe a lot of it was in my head, or because I was coming from Ethiopia where I don’t think I could feel more comfortable and beautiful, but it just felt like a lot of the white people didn’t look at me as openly and acceptingly.

But moving on. Now I’m back home in Addis, and it seems that I’ll be absent from school for even longer. A lot of people aren’t attending schools because it’s still kind of dangerous to be out. ICS is one of the only schools actually open this week, but it’s not at all mandatory to attend. For a lot of the kids who live right next to school it’s easy to get there without any trouble, but for those living in CMC, we have to cross a lot of terrain, and who knows what you’ll come across. Nearly all of the opposition party has been imprisoned, and a lot of innocent boys have just been picked up off of the street as well. Betty’s cousin, and thus my cousin, Fafi, lives in a kind of rough neighborhood, and a lot of his friends have just been taken to jail for not having done anything. Supposedly they go to concentration camp type of things to pick cotton, they don’t just sit in jail in Addis. Betty also said that these boys were going to be used to fight a war against Eritrea, but that seems… I don’t know, ludicrous. But not many people are out, and CMC has become a sort of refugee camp. It’s a closed compound where a lot of diplomats and foreigners live, so if any attack were to happen here or too close, big international stuff would go down. A lot of kids who live nearby come and hang out here, and it seems like there are always people out walking around the compound, so as not to go stir crazy in their homes. It was actually so weird, this week is a sit-in strike as well, so that’s another reason why a lot of people aren’t going out, but as I came home from the airport, it just wasn’t Addis. The streets were so quiet and empty. I saw six little taxis the entire way, and the streets are usually jampacked everywhere. I think everything will have to blow over soon enough, it won’t blow up. I do know several people who have left the country, though. We’ll see how it all goes. Oh, my mom is coming in a week. I said she shouldn’t come now because it’s dangerous, but she had a superb counter-argument: if it’s too dangerous for her to come, it’s too dangerous for me to be here. So it’ll be really nice to see her.

So, all for now. For those of you who want to know more about the political situation here, and the social stability, it’s apparently all over bbc. Also, anyone interested in learning more about the tournament in Joburg, a website was made for it. I don’t remember the address, but if you google search AISJ, I’m sure there’s a link somewhere on their site to it. I’ll write back when I can. Until then…

DISORDER!!!

2005-11-04T01:29:00.000-08:00

A lot is going on. I don't have the time to tell about it all, but just know, a lot is going on. I never had the chance to write about the political situation in Addis. As soon as I was going to, everything settled. The current government has been ruling for 14 years, taking over after the derg, a bad time in Addis. While I don't know the details, I know that the derg regime was oppressive and corrupt, and then Melas took over 14 years ago with a democratic government, a blessing for Ethiopia. However, he made a lot of promises that he didn't act on. Recently there was an election, and the opposition against Melas' government was probably going to win. Melas swayed the ballots in many areas so that he could win. He is becoming corrupt and oppresive, just as the derg was. Now the opposition is fighting back. While the two parties claimed to be making peace and agreements with each other, they made no headway. Starting on Tuesday there were riots in the city. Now 40 people have died, and there have been attacks on expat homes. There was even a man shooting outside of Samet, a restaurant behind ICS that we hang out at a lot. I really really hope the situation calms down and doesn't explode. I really really hope that everyone in Addis is fine. I'm currently in South Africa at our ISSEA tournament. If the situation in Addis worsens, then we'll stay here an extra week. No matter what, I'm safe, but what about everyone at home? As for a tournament update, our boys aren't doing too well b/c of their lack of spirit, and they just don't really get along. We, however, have won all of our volleyball games thus far, even beating the champions from last year. Soccer, we've lost 2 games 1-0, tied 1-1, and we just won 1-0. This is all I can write for now, because I'm already late to go warm up for our next soccer game. Please, send good thoughts to those still in Addis.

There's No Place Like Home

2005-10-26T09:58:00.001-07:00

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.

There's No Place Like Home

2005-10-26T09:58:00.000-07:00

Disgraceful

2005-10-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

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!

Upcoming Events!

2005-09-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

So, I’ve been bad about keeping this updated recently. That last blog about the accident, I wrote 2 weeks ago… yeah. So, sorry about that. Anyway, life is good. It’s Monday night, and we didn’t have school today, and we don’t have school tomorrow, because tomorrow’s Meskel, this big holiday. I love long weekends. And I have so much more to look forward to! This Friday there’s a Sandford party. Basically, the schools host parties and it’s open to kids from other schools; the money goes to pay for their prom usually I think. Basically it’s like school dances, except the way they used to be in middle school when we were joined with Redwood Day and St. Paul’s, etc. So, even though Sandford parties are supposed to be outrageously weak, we’re going. Betty and I are going to make the party happen haha. Or make it rock as Betty would say. She goes through phases of phrases that she really, really overuses. Her thing right now is making that rocker symbol with her hands and screaming in this annoying voice, “DUDE YOU ROCK!” Soooo, yeah. Also, a lot of people that we’ve seen recently have been like, “No, you guys have to come,” menamen, menamen, so hopefully it’ll be fun.

Then, not Saturday as in the day after the Sandford party, but the following Saturday, Sally and Veerle are having a joint 18th birthday party. They’re renting out Trend, this club in Dembel, this shopping mall, and it has a beach theme. I think that it’ll be OUTRAGEOUSLY nice, because Trend itself is pretty nice and hip, they’re getting a good deal for it, the club will be closed to the public until midnight, and it’s just going to ROCK! Haha. We’re going to cut the cake at 12. Yay, I’m excited! And I get to help and have this important position kind of, because I’ve offered my help, I’m friends with them and they trust me, and it’s their 18th birthdays and deserve to not worry and basically just have a blast. Ahh, it’s going to be incredible. And I’m borrowing this super cute shirt from Betty, but it’s black and doesn’t really go with their beach theme, but I don’t really care, so oh well.

Hmm, so their party is on October 8th. Then I have two weeks of school, and then I have a week off! YESSSSS! I don’t know why, it’s just a fall break. That’ll be really nice, except for the fact that Betty and Danny and Menna have school. Oh well, I’m pretty good at taking the public taxis now, and I basically know about how much it costs from place to place, so maybe I’ll just ride around by myself and meet up with people. Or maybe not. We’ll see. Anyway, I have a week off, and then the next week we have our tournament in South Africa! I’m so excited for that, but I can’t believe how soon it is! And then when we get back from South Africa I’ll be coming home in… about a month and a week… and a half. It’s kind of crazy, time is going to fly by. Betty and I were talking about having a party. I leave on December 16 to come home, so we thought maybe we’d have a party on the 9th or 10th for Betty’s birthday/goodbye-to-me-for-3-weeks. Haha, I kind of doubt that it’ll happen, but it would be fun if it did. And over spring break I’m either meeting my parents in Cairo and staying with friends of ours that live there (which would be incredible), or going to Seychelles (which would also be incredible). And then at the end of the school year I’m meeting my parents in Europe. OH MY GOD I LOVE MY LIFE. And I officially have a boyfriend. As of Friday, and I’m doing well in school, and I’m deputy captain (which is like vice captain) of soccer! Yay for me! So yeah, things are falling into place. Love always… g!

The Accident

2005-09-27T07:54:00.000-07:00

A couple of Tuesday mornings ago we left kind of late for school. CMC is on the other side of the city in comparison to ICS, so we have a long drive. Abiy was rushing, shaking back his jacket sleeve to check his watch every five minutes, and muttering incomprehensibly under his breath. He normally drives very safely considering the way people drive here, but on Tuesday he was driving fast, honking more aggressively at the people trying to walk across the street, and swerving from lane to lane to weave through the cars ahead of us. He really wanted to get us there before school started at 8 a.m.

About half way there the traffic behind one stoplight was a bit heavier than usual. After waiting through two lights we were finally at the front and able to see what was slowing us down. I was kind of waiting for this to happen, not hopefully or expectantly, but considering the way people drive here, it’s inevitable. I’m surprised that it took me an entire month to witness the scene of my first serious accident. At least I didn’t have to watch it happen.

There had been a taxi van going in the direction we were heading in, and a huge olive green military truck coming in the lane perpendicular to it. The truck had smashed into the driver side of the van so hard that it was twisted and mangled like cars you see in the driver’s ed videos. Red Asphalt I believe the series is called. Anyhow, shards of broken glass lay on the concrete surrounding the van, marinating in pools of blood. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t help but think of the person driving the van. And were there any passengers? Speeding down the road the way taxis do, Ethiopian music blasting in your ears, and then out of the corner of your eye something large looming towards you. You turned your head and looked death head on, a monster of a truck hurtling straight towards you. Did you scream, or were you so scared that you couldn’t do anything? Did you say a fast prayer, or were you too focused on slamming on the acceleration to try to avoid the truck? Did you think of your wife or child or mother? They’re thinking about you. It’s not fair, it was so random, so pointless. It was just another day trying to get by, but for some reason…

After that Abiy drove much more carefully. At first I wanted to tell him to go faster because we actually would be late, but I realized that I couldn’t. It shocked him as well, and when we were sitting in the idling car observing the scene and waiting for the light to turn green, he quickly closed his eyes and crossed himself. For about two hours every day we are giving him our lives, and there is no greater responsibility in the world than controlling the fate of others’ lives. We arrived at school around 7:55 a.m.

What is Family?

2005-09-14T04:19:00.000-07:00

What is family?

Family is sandwich hugs and snuggles when you need them. It is belting out oldies during traffic, and salsa dancing in the kitchen while cooking dinner. It's arguing over how fast to drive t hrough parking lots and which movie to watch tonight. Family is spider solitaire, hearts, and cribbage. It is justifying the amount of money we spent shopping and teaching the boys how to dress. It is choosing between the usuals: Italian colors, Jambajuice, La Salsa, and Grinders. Family picks you up from school when a broken heart hurts too much to bear alone. It is buying you a whole chocolate cake because the bakery doesn't sell slices. It's Brett Dennen, Amos Lee, and Michael Franti, and Berkeley Tuolumne Camp every summer. Family sits on the steps waiting for you return, sleeps on your bed unless dad is in the room, and cocks its head in the most adorable way. It is yelling at you when you don't do the dishes, spend too much time with friends, and make.... bad decisions. Family is blasting rap and hip hop, and trying to bob your head in a "cool" way while driving a gold minivan. It is having a cold. It is crying good tears. Family is being able to love you enough to let you go. Love Invincible.

Gone Going...

2005-09-12T02:31:00.000-07:00

And now they’ve gone. I don’t know really know what to feel. It was almost a twisted deja vous (however you spell it…) because my uncles had picked us up from the airport, and now they were dropping off. Except not dropping me off.

As we first went into the airport parking lot there was very little traffic, surprising since when we arrived it was absolutely chaotic. As my uncles were walking me back to the cars afterwards there was a lot more traffic. I thought about commenting on it, but it seemed pointless.

Every time my eyes started to well up I suppressed the tears. I wonder if I’ll cry. I wonder when I’ll cry.

Riding My Bike

2005-09-12T02:30:00.000-07:00

So… my family leaves today. In only a few hours. How has a month gone by already? Will an entire school year go by just as fast? In a blaze will it all be gone, over, swallowed by flames in an instant? Each day might seem long, yet you look back and it dawns on you that you slept through it all. How many times didn’t I take advantage of possible moments with my family? I still feel, through and through, that you can’t truly savor the final moments; if you haven’t lived the way you wanted to up until that point, then you can’t really change it. However, those moments are still important. They are still potential memories that you’ve lost. If I could go back in time, I don’t know if I would do anything different though. I suppose I would have been nicer. But if you change the past you mess up the future; I wouldn’t be right here where I am now, as the person I am now.

I’ll miss my parents. Yes, it’s true, I really do love you guys. I’ve learned so much from them, as I know they have from me. More than my parents, they’re my best friends, my pillars of strength, constants that will always be there. They let go of my bicycle, let me pedal on my own and teeter along; when I fall down, they’re there to help pick me up, dust off my knees, and kiss my scratches if I really need them, but first they linger back and wait to see if I can get up on my own. But now that I’m riding on my own, what will happen if I fall down really hard? Now they’re not even sitting on the other side of the playground, chatting with the other parents but always sneaking little galnces out of the corners of their eyes. I guess at least they’ve taught me to always wear my helmet. And so it goes.

On a slightly different note, we ended up going to the Sheraton for New Year’s Eve! Oh my god, I was SO excited! It’s just absolutely inexplicable, there’s no way to verbalize how much I wanted to go. My family went, and Betty’s family went, excluding Menna because she’s too young, and we’d be out to late, menamen. The sad thing about Menna is that we had to lie to her since she’d be really upset that we didn’t tell her; nonetheless she found out, and was really mad and angry. 100 birr fixed that though, haha. It took SUCH long time for us to leave; it started at 7 p.m but we didn’t even leave until about 9. We were all just chilling in my room dressed and ready to go, listening to music, singing along, and Danny and Betty who are really good dancers were busting out some moves. We were just having a good time, and it was actually really nice.

Anyhow, the Sheraton looked incredible, it was beautiful, all lit up and flashing as if it we were in the midst of a war and gunshots and canons were flaring all around us. The cool thing is that I could have talked to Wyclef if I wanted to, he was standing in the lobby just mingling with everyone and taking pictures, whatever, but I didn’t. A lot of my friends did, but I guess I was scared or nervous to or something, but oh well, I don’t really care. But Danny, my “little brother,” did, and they were talking and he mentioned that he really liked dancing, so Wyclef said that he’d challenge him to a battle later on. Wyclef didn’t start playing until a little after midnight, and until then it was just various famous Ethiopian artists, so everyone was just mingling around eating and talking. Everyone was all dressed up and looked really nice, and there were SO many people there! Good God, it was outrageous, I don’t think that I’d ever actually seen a prostitute before, but the way some of these women were dressed…

Anyway, Wyclef started playing and it was really fun, everyone was singing along, some really, really drunkenly. That was definitely one scary thing. We were up in this front section, and obviously everyone wants to be up there because it’s right next to the stage menamen, but that meant that it was really jammed and cramped, and people didn’t really care. Eventually I just had to say, “screw it” and be aggressive myself, or else I would have been trampled; people will just plow past you, spilling their drinks all over you, stepping on your toes, and it gets really frustrating. On top of that, if you’re near men who have been drinking and you seem at all like you’re having a good time by dancing and stuff, they’ll get on you, holding onto your wrists and pulling you along with them. It was really scary, sometimes we would have to pull each other out or very physically push them off and yell at them and stuff. It was very scary, I’ve never been in that position before. But I digress, something absolutely incredible happened. At one point Wyclef was talking into the microphone and said something like, “I met a little boy, about 12 years old, named Danny, who said that he could challenge me dancing. Where is he, come up on stage Danny!” WHAT THE HELL, RIGHT?! You’d never think that something like this would happen! You wouldn’t think that a world-famous celebrity would remember or care about some random boy that he met before a performance. But he calls Danny up onto the stage, and in front of HUNDREDS of people has a dance-off. And Danny, an amazing dancer, holds himself SO well. On stage. He dances. In front of a huge audience. Not to mention this is televised. He’s 11-years-old. It’s basically amazing. I can’t get over it. I’m so proud of him, and happy for him. It’s amazing.

Nothing Really Interesting

2005-09-12T02:29:00.000-07:00

Hmmm, well, where to start? I don’t really have much to say. It’s Thursday evening, 7:47 p.m., and I had volleyball until five, ate dinner, have already finished what little homework I had, cleaned up my room (a little bit), and have nothing else to do. I’m also outrageously tired. No joke. I think that I could actually fall asleep right now, and it’s not even 8 o’clock. This getting up around 6:20 every morning, going through a full day of school, plus an hour and a half of sports, plus homework is really tiring. Parents think that we have it made, no real responsibilities, life is easy. Yeah, right. Granted, we don’t have families to provide for and bills to pay, but it’s no breeze. We get worked hard.

Anyhow, this Saturday is the Ethiopian New Year. I REALLY REALLY REALLY want to go to the Sheraton (it’s SUPER nice), because Wyclef Jean is coming. For those of you who don’t know who Wyclef is, download Perfect Gentleman, Gone Till November, 911, and Something About Mary. It’s expensive though, so I doubt Betty and I will be going, which is fairly disappointing. But oh well, I suppose at least it’s not the end of the world.

Tonight my parents are having dinner with Sally’s parents and Betty’s parents, and Mattios is sleeping over here. Tomorrow after school I’m getting dropped off with my parents and we’re going out to dinner and I’ll be sleeping over. They leave on Sunday. I can’t believe it. How has a month already passed by? Time flies when you’re having fun I guess, but it also flies when you’re living. Oh, and time flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana. Yeah, you gotta think about that one, right? But anyway, I digress. I can’t believe that I’ve already been here a month. In three months and six days I leave for home. Oh, my hair is in braids! I got extensions. I really hated them at first, just because it’s very different, and it was hard to adjust, but now I’m really enjoying them. It makes life so much easier, because I don’t really have to do anything to my hair. I can shower when I get home in the evenings after sports, and wake up a little bit later the next. There are definitely advantages.

Ok, well I just wrote three paragraphs of nothing, so I may as well just end here. Nothing really interesting, just an update of the blah blah blah of my life right now. Love always…

I CAN DO IT MYSELF, THANK YOU!

2005-09-05T02:48:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday night, and despite the welcome back dance at school I’m at home. However, it sounds much more depressing than it really is. I just didn’t feel like going. I had dinner with my parents, came back to CMC and walked around the compound with Betty, hung out with some girlfriends that live here, and now here I am typing. Besides, tomorrow Betty and I are going to go out and be gone all day. And despite my absence at the dance, I’m so surprised with how well and quickly I’m adjusting. Sure, I have these moments where I space out and find myself wandering down Telegraph and having a smoothie in Montclair as if I never left. But as I was telling a girl earlier today, it’s not that painful, I-need-to-stick-my-head-under-a-pillow-because-I’m-so-sad-and-homesick feeling; it’s a poignant ache somewhere deep inside, a happy memory, an everlasting love. It’s actually so much fun to meet new people, and I’m getting along really well so far.

I’d say that the biggest problem I’m having as of right now is the classism. Last night after I ate dinner with Menna and Danny, I started clearing my plate and Menna told me that I really didn’t have to do that. I have someone that cooks for me and cleans up after me. When I come home in the evenings my bed has been made. I have a driver that drives me to school. At school kids have drivers bring them their lunch at 11:45 so that it’s still warm when they eat it. After school kids will just hang out, leaving their drivers waiting for them for who knows how long (because hey, it’s not like the driver has a life or anything), until they’re finally ready to go. And obviously the driver should be ready. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to this. Not that I AT ALL enjoy doing dishes at home, cleaning up behind myself, menamen (etc., and stuff), but there are times when I just want to scream, “I CAN DO IT MYSELF, THANK YOU!”

Hmm, what else is going on? I have to be at school at 9 a.m. tomorrow, a Saturday, for training for volleyball and soccer, and afterwards I’m getting my hair braided. Next Saturday is the Ethiopian New Year, and Wyclef Jean is coming to the Sheraton to perform. HECK YEAH I’m going to see him! There may (yes, there is) be a certain boy interest. So, yeah, I suppose that’s all for now.

Moving in and moving on

2005-09-05T02:46:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what to say. No, I guess that I have so much to say that I don’t know where to start. First of all, I haven’t written in awhile, but please excuse me, school has kept me very busy. Besides homework, sports have started. In the fall we play Varsity volleyball, and there’s a tournament in South Africa in November; however, if you want to go to the tournament you also have to play six-a-side soccer, so we train for both sports during the fall. And MY GOD, not even having had been here for two weeks, I was training at a 7500-foot altitude after coming from more or less sea level; by the time we were doing our cool-down stretches I was so winded, it felt like something was inside of my body twisting my lungs, and the world seemed spotty through my eyes, and kept tilting from side to side. In the end it’s worth it, though: I’ll be in incredible shape, going to JoBerg will be incredible, and when we’re there we’ll be running in circles around the other team.

Secondly, I moved into CMC yesterday (Saturday)! CMC is the name of the development where I’m staying (named after the contractor that built it), and even though it’s on the outskirts of town it’s really very nice. It’s a gated compound, and so is very safe, and oftentimes kids walk around at night, or go to the courts to play basketball and just hang out. It’s really nice because it allows you that beaucolic neighborhood experience. For example, last night when Betty and I got home we were in her room and suddenly there’s a knock at the door and deep voice said, “Special delivery.” Lo and behold it was Elmo, a boy who goes to ICS with me, and a really close friend of Betty and her family. It was really nice because we all just talked in her room for who knows how many hours, Betty even fell asleep, and Elmo finally left a little after one o’clock when Dr. Salam made him go. But it’s weird. I’m past the “I-can’t-believe-it’s-really-happening” stage, but today I unpacked my clothes into a new closet, and tonight I’m sleeping in a different bed. I’ll still see my family, hopefully every other day, but it’s weird. It’s hard to verbalize, and that makes me feel even more immature, but this is a huge step for me. Moving in is moving on, not that I’ll ever fully disconnect from my parents, but it’s scary. Tonight I had dinner with my family, and afterwards when my dad called Abiy, the taxi driver, I had asked to be picked up and dropped back off at CMC as soon as possible, just because I had some things to take care of. But I didn’t know that as soon as possible would be only be fifteen minutes. And so it goes.

As for the rest of yesterday evening, last night was my first night out in Addis. During the day Betty and I had gone with my parents to Mercato, a busy, chaotic market area, to do a little bit of shopping. After that Betty and I met up with a friend of hers from Sandford, the British school, got pizza, and went to a concert of their friends’. I guess that these four boys are aspiring rappers, and they put together an exhibition. While it wasn’t the most enjoyable time ever, it was definitely an experience. It was pretty hilarious to watch some people dance, because even though they could move their bodies, some people had ridiculous dance moves. Also, I find it really funny to see how hip-hop culture has influenced other parts of the world. I’m on the other side of the globe, in a hall filled with Ethiopian teenagers, and I still haven’t escaped America. Everyone is matching like you’d never believe, and boys are wearing Ecko shirts that fall half-way down their legs, or basketball jerseys, baggy jeans, and the Air Forces to complete the outfit. But it doesn’t seem natural for all of them, on many it looks slightly ludicrous, yet they feel that because they’re black, it’s what they’re supposed to do. The best analogy I can come up with – and please excuse me if I offend – is that they remind me of those stereotypical gangster wannabe white boys that you see in the movies. It just doesn’t fit. But I guess I’m not the only one “moving on.”

Ahhh

2005-08-22T05:11:00.000-07:00

Ahh, well, hello. It’s now Sunday morning, 8:30 actually… If this house had Internet access I could plug in my computer and start chatting on aim. It’s only what, 10:30 p.m. at home?! Haha, oh well.

Well, I suppose the first day of school was really hard for a couple of reasons. One is that, because it was a half-day, the students weren’t really interacting with each other that much unless it was old friends squealing and giggling, etc. I just felt very much like an outsider, like I didn’t belong. But also, it was very strange to be back at school, but not have the school be Head Royce, and not be surrounded by all of my friends. I guess it was a bit of a shock. However, after that first day it got much better: I started meeting more people, and my basically-cousin who also goes to ICS took care of me. Also, it’s very cool that in my Social Anthropology class I was in a group discussing homework with a girl from Holland named Yakamÿn and a boy from Belgium named Pierre. Ahh, to truly be a “woman of the world.”

The person that truly made my week wonderful is Danny. Danny is my brother or cousin or whatever you’d like to call him; he is part of the family that I’ll be staying with. By the way, their names are Haile-Liul, Salam, Betty, Danny, and Menna. Anyway, Danny was listening to the music I have on my iPod and kept saying, “Ohh, you need to give me this!” However, a lot of the good music on my iPod I have gotten from other friends’ computers, and iTunes doesn’t let you automatically put songs from your iPod onto your own computer. I guess it’s to stick to their “buy music, and don’t steal it” philosophy. This has always been frustrating because other friends may want songs (like
Danny in this instance), but I’ll be unable to give them to them. Or I’ll be trying to make a playlist on my computer but certain songs won’t be in my computer library (only on my iPod), so I can’t put them on my playlist. It has just always been a great inconvenience. Little did I know, for a 6th grader, Danny’s a technological genius, especially in comparison to me. Little did I know, Danny’s my savior, and showed me how to put songs from my iPod onto my computer. Ahh, Ethiopia is definitely having its perks.

First day of school

2005-08-22T05:10:00.000-07:00

First a reminder: Because I can’t get Internet access whenever I want, I will be posting numerous posts each time I log on; I’ll write things up in Word and then get them online when I can. Thus, while it may say that I posted two or so times in one day, they may not necessarily have been written that day.

Well, it’s Wednesday, which means I had my first day of school. It was a half-day like Head Royce, and also like HRS we have a mini-day and go to all of our classes. Even though it was a short day it was really hard. I hate having to be one of the new kids (there are apparently 5 new girls and 1 boy, although not everyone was at school today – out of the country still, or the first day’s a joke, I guess). Seeing other kids makes me realize how much I miss my friends. I guess it’s actually true that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone; I really have it good at home. I love you all. It’s just, now I feel like such an outsider, it’s weird to be in a place where you really don’t have any friends. You feel very alone. But my family’s here, and amidst the regal churches and mosques, and the priests’ melodic incantations each morning at dawn, they are my religion.

However, now I just can’t help but think “Oh @!^#, what the *$#% did I get myself into?!” Sure I had the balls to say that I want to be here, and don’t get me wrong, it’s a great opportunity, but it’s really scary now. Also, it’s not like a year here is going to make me “more Ethiopian.” I will never truly be Ethiopian. I am only _, or gemash, Ethiopian. I am American, through and through. This is the first time that I’ve actually had any patriotic instincts, but I have a home in Oakland, the Bay Area, California, the United States of America; that is where I have grown up and that is where I want to raise my children.

But bakka, enough of this. One really important person I haven’t mentioned is Zeritu. Ethiopia’s classism is jarring to me: While some drive down the streets in their imported BMWs and whatnot, there are groups of people at every corner dressed in rags. Thus everyone of a certain socioeconomic level has a housekeeper that cooks and cleans and a guard to open the big gates that surround their house. Zeritu is our housekeeper, and she is wonderful! Her food is batam teru, very good, and she’s really nice as well. I also won’t deny that a maid is a luxury I most certainly enjoy.

Well, all for now. I hope all is well at home. Ewedachualoh, again, I love you all.

First thoughts

2005-08-22T05:08:00.000-07:00

There is a 10-hour time difference between Ethiopia and home (the East Bay). As my faithful laptop tells me, it is 1:59 p.m. on Sunday at home. This is odd because as I sit here about to go to bed, but typing and listening to a playlist I made for a friend, that same friend may be taking a run with her dad, or hanging out with friends, or shopping on Telegraph. The list goes on. Now, at a certain point in my life I realized that the world extended beyond me and my family and my dogs, past my friends’ houses and my school. Since then at random times I’ve thought to myself Wow, there are probably a ton of people biking and playing hockey and giving birth and eating hot dogs and… Again the list goes on. But then it was superficial, just a little game I played with myself. Now, while I feel very superficial saying this, the idea that life is going on is much more real to me. Because there is a life (or way of life) I am temporarily (or eternally) leaving behind, thinking about what’s happening on that other side of the world means a lot more to me. It’s thinking about people and places I know and love. I’ve been out of the country numerous times, Ethiopia alone two other times. But a school year feels much more permanent than a vacation, and now thinking about what’s going on throughout other parts of the world is much more personal. First steps towards real global thinking perhaps?

Well, we arrived in Addis Ababa Friday night after a very long, but surprisingly easy, flight. Ah, I should state here that my family came to Ethiopia with me and will stay for a month as I settle in. After a 5 hour flight to Washington D.C., the hardest leg for me, and a direct flight from there to Addis with a layover in Rome to refuel we finally arrived. The flight to Ethiopia was relatively easy because I mostly slept, ate, and watched movies. In total we were in transit for about 30 hours from the point we left Oakland to the moment we arrived at my Aunt’s house (she lives in Boston and is currently there, but owns a house here).

We came into the New Bole Airport. Last time I was here it was in the final stages of construction, and now that it’s been completed it somewhat symbolizes the shift that I see in Ethiopia: the growth and building and modernization. By 2008 Ethiopian Airline also plans to bring in a new fleet of Boeing airplanes. But all across Addis new buildings are being built and rocky dirt roads are being paved. Many new cars have been imported, so now Mercedes-Benzes, Lexuses, and Toyota and Suzuki jeeps hurtle down these freshly paved roads with the old rickety blue and white taxi cars and vans. There are basic driving laws and you can’t get a license without being able to properly manage a car. But driving here is still crazy: at times you share the road with other cars, people on foot, and goats and cows; taxi drivers will get impatient if the road is jammed in and will jump into the lane going in the opposite direction, plunge forward into the oncoming traffic and create an even bigger jam. However, as my uncle said to me, out of the chaos some sort of order manages to form. Ah, and all of the cars run on diesel, so thick, black-gray clouds sputter out from big vans and trucks, lingering above the ground for awhile. Needless to say, the fumes are awful. Then, out of the din of honking cars and the general chatter of people on the street, I will suddenly hear songs I know (50 Cent’s “Just a Little Bit” and Snoop’s “Drop it Like It’s Hot”). This music spills out of tiny shops arbitrarily placed along a street. These shops sell bootleg movies and are plastered with posters of musicians like Eminem and Eamon and movies like “Cold Mountain” and “Are We There Yet?” As much as Ethiopia is beginning to renovate itself to keep up with modern times, it is still very much a third-world country. From this I see great contrast in the country. New luxury cars mingle with 20-year-old ones and grand new houses are being built that only a minute percentage of the population can afford.

School starts on Wednesday. Oh my.

Entonces au revoir y ciao?

2005-08-07T02:03:00.000-07:00

So I'm on a roll... I haven't even left yet and this is my third post! Haha, well, c'est la vie: I have a lot on my mind.

Entonces, why is it so hard to say goodbye? I mean, besides hard in the sense that I don't want to have to say goodbye, all of my goodbyes (change the "y" to an "i" and add "e-s"?) thus far have been unsatisfying, even slightly awkward. Today was the last time I'll see several good friends until at least December, and saying "bye" seemed hollow and anticlimactic. It's not that I expected us to start sobbing as we embrace (cue the sappy music in the background), but it felt empty, a little unreal and irrelevant even. We say "Oh God, I won't see you till FOREEEEVER." It's always then "Well, have a great time in Ethiopia, I know that it'll be an incredible experience." Have I ever responded by saying anything other than "Thanks, and have a GREAT year!"? We hug, and sometimes it's hard to tell how tight we are allowed to squeeze. We let go to devour one last momentary glance at each other, ingesting only traces of each other to last as final memories. Then we hug again even tighter than the first time. "Well... this is it I guess," we sigh. We smile. It's all happened so quickly. Are we looking each other in the eye? I can't remember. "I love you." "I love you more."

But it is bittersweet, incomplete, not at all fulfilling.

Blessed is this life and I'm gonna celebrate being alive

2005-08-05T00:52:00.000-07:00

So... I leave in a week. Actually. One week. At this time, seven days from now, I'll be on a plane from D.C. to Ethiopia. Suddenly it's real. Suddenly I'm truly sad and scared and nervous, which I know I shouldn't be since this will be a wonderful experience, but it's still hard.

And when one is whittling away their time, actually expecting and waiting for something huge to happen, life doesn't seem to stand still; instead it rushes by in one trivial, more or less inconsequential blur. Let's see if I can verbalize.

This next week should be really important to me because it's my last time at home for almost a year, excepting the 2+ weeks I'm home over winter break. I want it to be special, brimming with crazy nights with friends and overall, just unforgettable experiences. In a sense, it's as if this is my last week alive and I want to inundate myself with my world. But in the end it's never like that, and it doesn't really matter. Suddenly I find myself doing little things that have needed to be done since forever (as if they really matter now), but I'm not spending every last drop of my energy out with friends. Example: my mosquito netting canopy fell from my ceiling last Thanksgiving. We just put it back up. But does it really make that much of a difference what I'm doing now, right before I leave? Sure I want to spend time with all of my loved ones before I go. But if I haven't been living how I truly want to, and if I haven't been making as many memories as possible, then it's not like I can make up for that in the week before I leave.

So I don't know, maybe this is cheesy, but you know the saying "live every day like it's your last"? Sure it makes sense, but why ever consider that your last day should be your best? Personally I would want to spend my last day peacefully and surrounded by family. But I have every other day of my life to value simply because it is another day. And obviously there's a WORLD of opportunities out there.

2005-07-21T22:46:00.000-07:00

in barcelona, one of the best places on earth