anywhere but here

Hello? Yes, I'd like to inquire about an application for employment...

Oh, hi. Actually, we're really overstaffed at the moment, but we'll keep your application on file until we're hiring again. Good luck!

Hello. No we're not hiring at the moment. You could try our store on Broadway.

What's your name? Oh, yes, I remember seeing your application. No, we're not hiring, but if we were, you would certainly not be a candidate. No, I can tell just from your voice that you are cut from a cloth of inferior moral and intellectual fibre. No, you're not eligible. Good luck. Oh, no, I wasn't serious, I was being sarcastic. Goodbye.

******

There has never been a place as cold as where I am right now. Never in the history of the universe. I am absolutely certain of this. Any comments to the contrary will be flagged and commentator will be hunted down by the blog-police (a lesser-known branch of the Culturally Hip-ish/Almost Cutely Nerdy Policing branch of the United Colonies of the Internet, also the organization trying to change the structure of the haiku from 5-7-5 to 6-7-8. Something about logical crescendos and whatnot). This is what they will do to you.

I'm so glad to be back in my new home. It's great. I have no more bottom due to the fact that it has been frozen off, but that's not much of a change- just ask anyone. It would be like if my ability to spell correctly was frozen off, i.e. I would not be able to spell. Still. Also, I had a phenomenal dream in which all of my teeth started falling out. One of the two beaver ones up top, and about every other on on the bottom right side. And then they just kept falling out, or breaking off in shards. I kept having to spit out the chalky paste of saliva mixed with tooth bits. It was wretched.*

But I awoke, teeth in tact, and proceeded to go through my list of things to consider:
Employment
Unemployment
Hypothermia self-rescue tactics
Dead babies
New babies
Flu and head colds
Unemployment
Rent
Grey market tactics for making money that wouldn't technically be legal
Morals and where the outer limits of mine might lie
Dead babies
Unemployment

I am so cold. And was so looking forward to being back. And, truthfully, found my trip back to be quite enjoyable. Walking through the San Francisco airport with time to spare, I stopped to look at an art project consisting of seals designed for each of San Francisco's sister cities, projected onto the floor of the airport. Kind of cool, heartening that there still is some money going into the arts in California. Though I suppose it's telling that it is being displayed in the airport, to make sure that visitors know that we support our artists; the rest of us, well, we know better.

I read the description of the project: "Each crest is designed with a background of the topographical map of the city's airport.." and my eyes welled up.

Wait, what? What is happening? Maps? Topography? Cities in Asia with which I have very little connection? Which of these was the element which was causing me to take this unexpected detour into the land of the deeply-unbalanced, leaving me teary-eyed and dangerously close to tear-stained, staring at some artist's representation of Manila and Shanghai? This is inappropriate madness for which I will not stand. Dazed, I walked away from the informational board. Maybe time for a snack or some tastefully designed San Francisco merchandise. Yes, I think so.



*I suppose I'd be in good company though, that of other phenomenally-excellent twenty-somethings endowed somewhat meagerly in the tooth-department.

What to Do when You End up on Someone's Celebrity Dinner Party List when You're Living out of a Cardbord Box

I'm sorry, I'm sick. And it's OK, really, it's just that when I'm sick, my tolerance for...stuff... goes from here (tolerably high) to here (down low-low).

And the thing is, this qualification for your wookie-like sociability might get you off the hook if you weren't sick, like, all the frickin' time.
Yeah, we know, why don't you get over it already? sounds in echoing harmony from inside your head, and outside your head, but the echoes from outside probably come from inside but who cares because it doesn't matter what they say because you know what a horrid beast you are. You're with yourself all the time, for crying out loud.

It's that moment of wondering when anything at all will work at all, or if you might not be better served to call it a day and head for Antarctica because, while it might be uncomfortably cold there, you could live out your wretched days (may they be short) in peace and solitude without disturbing anybody or -thing due to the miraculous sound-proofing qualities of ice caves.

And then you turn to some soothing activity, and find it inexplicably transformed into "the next calculus" and your mind goes blank with rage and you find yourself standing over the splintered remains of a tenor ukulele. This is what The Who must've felt like; I totally understand. Except that their smashing guitars-thing was related to being bad-asses, golden gods of the world of rock n' roll, not screw-ups. Oh, just...dammit.

++++++

I'm in Seattle now, and there are waves of ohmygodthisissoexcitingicoulddoANYTHING. Often though, those moments are overshadowed by the more sustained feelings of whatthef*&#amiDOINGhere which send me the bathroom holding back my hair, coming out 10 minutes later looking sheepish and hoping that the TV was on a little louder than I know it really was.

Maybe I should just go for it. Do art, make prints and journals and sell them and play with kids and use my extra time to intern teaching creative writing to under-served urban communities. And become a vegan.

But I really like real ice cream. And brie. And doesn't the success of any artist ride first and foremost on the artist's ability to let go of their art, and in that release risk the implication that their art is good enough?

So maybe just switch from milk to soy milk. Mostly. And veggie-sausages seem an all-too-easy option, especially given my current employment status of...not. But what about that? The employment part? More than that employment part, the doinglivingbeing part?

There's this thing that happens to me sometimes, where I go to do something, but can't. It's not that I can't, rather it's that I can't decide the order in which to complete that activities or actions surrounding the thing I want to do. So I just end up standing there frozen, going over scenarios in which I complete the tasks in different orders, weighing the merits of, for example, putting the tea water on before going pee, because then the will start to heat up while I'm in the bathroom, but before I put the water on I need to wash the tea pot, which means that I wouldn't be going pee until after I've scrubbed out tea pot, filled it up, and put it on the stove, and I really have to go pee... And all the time, I'm standing there in the hall between the kitchen and the bathroom until someone comes up to me and asks if everything is OK, and when I try to explain the predicament it crumbles in my mouth and I end up spewing sawdust all over the hallway. Then there's a mess, but before I clean it up I have to go to the bathroom, so the decision's made.

And that's where I am, standing in the hall, trying to decide whether to pee first or put on the water. Friends seem to have gotten used to my camping out there in the hallway and greet me cheerily on their way to work and school and bowling and grocery shopping. There's a shadow of doubt that clouds my equating temporarily which seems to suggest that all this is in preparation for that and shouldn't I be doing things like grocery shopping?

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE TEA?!?

++++++

If life is inherently risky, there are certain risks that feel bigger, more do-or-die. And what is it that we're so very frightened of? A broken heart? The prospect of returning in shambles? (Again?) That's all fair. But what of the notion that nothing worth having comes without struggle and risk? Are we looking down the barrel of a life lived without risk at the expense of all joy? What does it mean to find yourself in a moment of little faith, when everything fades to shades of gray?

Thank god and goodness for the things we can, with unabashed joy, pride, and assurance, declare to be ours and our loves.

Love in the Time of the Internet Cellular Phone

P: Are you finished with your essay yet?
A: No.
P: How much more do you have to do?
A: 10 pages.
P: You haven't done anything?
(Eyes go wide, eyebrows settle themselves in deep furrows just above, as though settling in before a storm, green and red sparks fly from the corners of eyelids because complimentary colors are always more catchy, majestic curls of smoke creep out of nostrils and diffuse into the air)
A: NO. I've done a lot. I just haven't written anything yet.
(Ninja stars are produced with rapid speed and hurled with breathtaking accuracy leaving the offender pinned to the wall with the knowledge that the students might have ended an all-too-irreverent life with the flick of her wrist. Lesson learned.)

++++++

When it's my turn at the counter, I fumble over words which should be so straight-forward.
Um, here, uh...I checked out these books, and I would just stick them in the slot, but this one is disintegrating, and I'm afraid it would fall apart in the bin...um, but, the other ones are fine. I can just...or maybe it would be easier...oh, you want my ID? OK, um, one...OK, here it is...
She takes my ID, and my disintegrating book. She smiles and says:
It's ironic that the title of this book is "Structuralism".
HA! I laugh in a voice too loud for the library, Yeah! Funny. Haha. Yeah...

I step out of the library into the cool, dark, soft night. Squatting on her haunches, her back is lit from the lights inside, leaving her face in shadow. Phone pressed to her ear, book in her hand, she declaims in a hushed voice:

...the past flashes like lightening over the gloomy abyss of the future and everything around me collapses...

God I'm going to miss this place.

*In Other News*

(strains neck to keep head above a torrent of what appear to be...fish with human heads?!?)
Just wanted to drop you a line, and fill you in on the really big happenings of my life leading up to what I'm promised will be my eventual graduation with a Bachelor's degree in sociology...

Spending so much time at home recently has been enlightening. I'll share some of my new-found wisdom with you:

Graham: Who do you think would win at catching pop fly balls at a baseball game, Luke Skywalker, or Gangsta Gollum?

Dad: Obviously Luke Skywalker. He's got the Force.

Graham: I say Gangsta Gollum. Because when Luke Skywalker gets within ten inches of the ball, Gangsta Gollum jumps up with a gun and says, "Back up, foo! My precious!"

Alex: With a gun?

Graham: He's a GANGSTA!

Furthermore, if you've got a few minutes to spare, take a look at this video. It has made me cry every time I've watched it. Try to look beyond the radiant early-nineties apparel if you can.

(Wait, is that a photo of a bathroom? A bathroom for monsters?!)

Lay Me Down

Come to me.

++++++

5:50am
6:16am
4:45am
6:11am

Times I've woken up in the last 4 days. WHAT IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON? Our bodies tell us so much if we choose to listen. If we don't, we just think we're loosing it. The two scenarios may not be mutually exclusive. Grind your teeth at nigh- stress? What's that about? Wake up at quarter-to-five- anxiety? Legs twitching and tingling after a day of lying in bed- is this what it feels like when muscles die?

To use the age old phrase, I feel like a college-student with its head cut off. Running around, bumping into things, watching a movie, saying every five minutes "I have to go do homework." BORING. Be original, won't you Alex? Nobody wants to listen to a stressed-out co-ed. Not even you.

So true. I'm going to go read someone else's blog.

++++++

(sips wine out of coffee mug)

9:22pmKate

hello!

9:22pmJessica

hi

i'm doing homework

not looking at pics of my crush

just so you know

9:23pmKate

I politely suggest you GET OFF FACEBOOK then

btw I'm clearly studying

please stop bothering me

++++++

Alexandra Stokes
Sociology of Immigration- SOC 180
Report on Oakland Chinatown

Oakland Chinatown established itself simultaneously with the city of Oakland itself. It is currently home to many people who participate in numerous and diverse activities. It's quite close, you know. I can't do this right now...
++++++

Don't Give In

++++++

First day of bright, breath-taking, lay-out-in-it-till-you-have-to-go sun. I forgot what it's like, this sun. Or maybe it's not the sun I've forgotten, but the soaking-in of it. In any case, I've clearly forgotten proper sun-etiquette, as is evidenced by my sadly-screaming, red-like-a-cherry-otter-pop back. I'm all about sunscreen, normally. I just forgot. I wasn't prepared. I didn't know it was time for the sun yet, and I can't quite figure out how it sneaked up on me, don't remember this ever happening before. I wonder where I've been that I haven't seenfelt the sun. I don't think I'll go back there, if I can help it.

December´s Endless Summer, Part 2

It´s going to be legen...wait for it...DARY!

On the cusp of returning home, leaving Iceland, feeling slightly wind-tossed and worn-down, looking forward to coming home and concerned that the glow of homecoming will wear off leaving behind, just, you know...normal life. What if that happens? What if I have to go back to real life? That would be...well...normal?

It´s funny traveling with sister-like creatures because, well, they´re sisters. And that means a lot of things. Infinite comfort and ease. Safety in the assurance that you´ll get wrapped in a soft down-comforter and cozied up with those warm bodies no matter how much of a dragon you´ve been all day.

And we all have our days.

And then there are those days. The days when you are your most wretched self because you´re exhausted with yourself, exhausted with the destructive rhythms which reappear over and over again between people you´ve known and loved and fought with over and over again. Those days though, don´t end with tears. And if they do, night pours ambrosia in your ear which mixes with your dreams, of memories of marco polo in California and buttered toast with jam and cheese in Iceland. You wake up, and it´s ok. It´s her, after all.

H: So, are you guys going back tomorrow?
S: Wait, what?!
H: Back to the pool...
S: Oh! I thought you meant back to California.
A: Yeah, jeeze, it wasn´t that bad of a day...

So I´ll be sad to leave. And glad to return, home and back to Iceland. No question.

December's Endless Summer, Part 1

Patsy got to the airport soon after I arrived, but just long enough after said arrival that I thought she might not have remembered that today was the day of my arrival. Slightly shaken, I spent the car ride with her winding down, wondering what it might mean for me to be here, in Iceland, after four months in India. Was I ready? Would I be able to be what I needed to? Show enough gratitude? Engage enough with my friends here while simultaneously trying to disengage with the India that I had just left behind?

We arrived at the house, and I followed Patsy through the door.

Hello?
Hello?
Hello?!
Hello!
HELLO!
Hello!!!

Oh! home.

++++++

After crashing so hard the night before, I woke up to dusky light at 9 in the morning. The only other person home was Ivar, the budding young gallant who has taken the place of the two-year-old who left with the Thormars for colder pastures when I was 10.

Would you like some bread?
Yes please.
With cheese? Or we have patte too.
I'd love some cheese!
(young gallant presents sleepy and mussed American wanderer with a plate on which is set a piece of toast, buttered, with sliced cheese on top. The American wonders who this young man is. And how does he know where they keep the cheese slicer?)

Would you like anything to drink? Tea or juice?
I would LOVE some tea.
(mysterious young gallant makes tea)
I don't know if you like milk and sugar, so I'll just put them here on the table.
(gallant hands American a cup of tea, takes his own to his seat, and opens the paper. Did I read the paper, reflects the American, when I was 13? Do I read it NOW?)
Thank you so much Ivar!
You're welcome.

++++++

Hanna and I decided to go to the pool. It was snowing. It was SNOWING!!!! But the pool is the place to be here in Iceland. That is, the place to be besides the bar. And as it wasn't yet evening, we decided on the pool. The pools here are warm, and endlessly so, as a result of the geothermal heating which keeps the country running and in high spirits. We showered, put on our suits, and stepped out into the frigid cold. The kind of cold made up of lots and lots of tiny ice crystals which you can't see, but which sting you like I-don't-know-what. We hopped in the jacuzzi. We sat there, chatting, shoulders deep in steamy water, fat snowflakes falling on our eyelashes, just like in the "Sound of Music". Just like that, except not so real and infinitely more magical. Is this real life?

A couple of quick notes while en route to Iceland:

I am the only female in the entire Amsterdam airport who is not wearing super-cute leather boots. Even the little Nordic girls have them. They also seem very self confident, intelligent, and like they have a good handle on career paths, sharing, and the like. Unfortunately for me, In addition to my current bootless state, my fleece jacket is covered in disgusting red fuzz and maverick strands of hair. How unfortunate, think passers-by as they walk past. Storm ji was right about her...

Also, my new favorite thing: packing suitcases! Packing, re-packing, struggling with zippers until I rise triumphant, sweaty, and (as usual) covered in fuzz, re-packing just for the heck of it, and finding out that there was no point, and that I'll have to do it all over again, the way it was before. I love it. LOVE IT.

xoxo

Humor me...

Let's talk for a minute about what a genius J.K. Rowling is. But before we do that, I should preface our discussion:

I don't like Harry Potter, haven't even read all the books, certainly haven't read any of them multiple times. I also don't have a stuffed-animal monkey named George after George Weasley who travels the world with me. Come on folks, I'm 22; that would just be ridiculous.

Oh wait, I was just talking about some other person. Or alternatively, I was confusing the parts of speech indicating negation and affirmation. For a more accurate representation, please transpose all negative statements to the affirmative. Yes...that's better.

So, about Harry Potter... I don't want you all to worry too much about this situation; the one in which I adore Harry and the rest of the Hogwarts gang. I am not an oppressive Harry Potter fan. I'm not the type to react to the admission that you “didn't like” or “never got into” Harry Potter with the statement, “yeah, well, that's because you're crazy.” While I have no cognitive frame of reference for this point of view, I accept it as absolutely legitimate for those individuals to whom it belongs. It's just like George Lakoff says in his book, Don't Think of an Elephant: it would take years of careful consideration in order for me to develop the pathways in my brain which might allow me intellectual access to this point of view. And like the Republicans in Lakoff's example, I'm quite happy living in ignorance, or at least the familiarity of my own knowing, beating the mental paths of Harry Potter-adoration with which I am so very familiar.

(For those of you tired of hearing Harry Potter praised, now is a good time to tune out and go read about politics or underground music or computers or something...)

So back to H.P. himself. Let's talk about how ingeniously crafted the last Harry Potter book really is. Not that I just re-read it or anything. I didn't just finish it in the Mumbai airport waiting for my plane to Delhi. Nor was I forced to wrap up extra-secretive-like in my shawl in an attempt to conceal the tears evoked by the final chapter of Harry's adventures. Hang on, it's that negative-affirmative thing again. Oh well, figure it out.

So, let's talk about how great all this stuff is. (Also, let's switch from general-unspecific-meaningless-word mode into the mode that's...the opposite of that.) Let's talk about inspiration and artistic beauty, or about how every once in a while you come across something which reminds you what life is all about, and pulls the cord which turns on the bare lightbulb right at the top of the inside of your skull and illuminates all the magnificence in there that you had forgotten about. The lightbulb is old, and a little harsh, and the room it illuminates isn't exactly tidy, but it shows you everything that's up there. A lot of its covered in dust, some of it is broken, but just look at everything you've got stored-up inside you, waiting to be used, shown off, stretched out, unfurled, taped-together and used again, no less brilliant for its scars.

Let's talk about how I should've read the last book this time around with a pencil and pack of stickies to mark all the places articulating lifeandbeyond lessons under the guise of “fiction.” Let's talk about when a certain character says with a smile, “Of course it is happening inside your head...but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Let's talk about how deeply unfair it is that Harry should have to make the choices he does, that no person of any age should be required to do the same. How, with all the magic and metaphore and beauty of life and living, sometimes it feels like nothing more than stumbling through the semi-darkness and banging your toe, followed by cracking your head so hard that your eyes water, first from pain, then from frustration and anger, finally from some desperate sense that you are irreversibly lost. How, at the end of some days, it all just feels wrong, unfair, blatantly cruel, awkward, unromatic and devoid of anything remotely resembling art or beauty. Sometimes it is just life, the life that involves tripping and snot and using the toilet and people dying much too young or maybe not but in any case you're not ready to let them go. Let's talk about that.

Or maybe we should talk about how Harry finds love in just the right person, so maybe its possible for me too. About how, in all his glory and success and victory, he is still a human, perfect in no light, bodhisattvah but not the kind that's gotten there yet.

Let's talk about how, if Harry, in all his imperfection and humanity, is so very remarkable (and he is, I think), this means that so are we all, that we are there too, being, for that's all we can do, in a place of magnificent incompleteness, complete in that mere fact.

Let's talk about how, in the end, Harry is essentially and fearfully alone.

Title on Request

Downer: Bummer, a sequel

or

How much do you think this elephant bag will cost me?

or

Lies, Lies

or

I'm sorry, did you say 300 rupees?

or

But I've already paid!

or

It's very nice, except for the cockroaches.

or

Did you say “silk coasters”?

or

No, I won't give you money for your starving baby because you probably mangled it yourself and look, it's high on dope!

or

Oh, golly, it's been fun, but I've got to go.

or

YES madame!

or

He's an asshole, just like me. You'd like him!

or

Where have all the flowers gone?

or

Sorry, did you need something? Because when you made that kissing noise, I thought maybe you needed something...No? OK, just checking.

or

Do people here use the finger?

or

Please don't spit on me.

or

I'm sorry, when I ask you a question and you bob your head from side-to-side for both yes and no, I don't know WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME

or

Don't forget to take care of your body, you know, by eating and sleeping...

or

Is this a legit business, or the kind that is not so...legit?

or

Mercy C+

or

It hasn't all been bad, really!

or

What did you do today?

or

No, I don't know where it is, I don't live here. But you are a taxi driver, so please figure it out and berating me in Hindi will not help as I think it's quite apparent that I have no idea what you're saying.

or

Did you know that the symbol on your bag is the same one used by a right-wing nationalist group in the area that is trying to kick all the immigrants out of Bombay?

or

Sorry, I just woke up.

or

Where are you again?

or

I have no idea.

or

Is it seven candles plus the Shamesh, or is it eight?

or

Wait, what did you say?

or

Get your “Oh, no, I don't think I'd like any of this for dinner” face ready to use in place of “Oh my gosh, is that per person?” face.

or

Are you ready to come home? Well, I don't know...

P.S. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Grace eludes and angst sets in. This sucks! I hate everybody. Arrrrrg. Not in the pirate way, more in the why-doesn't-life-seem-to-fit-right-now kind of way. Over-caffinated, under-productive, not to sing the song of the co-ed...

"Set a goal. Focus. Don't go on the internet."

"Come on Alex, you're a big girl."

"200 Rupees" for the rickshaw ride that should've taken 10 minutes but in actuality took an hour.

(Sidelong glance from the woman serving breakfast when I come up for chai for the fourth time.)

F-YOU! (Head explodes and singed confetti scatters over the room, while the sound and flurry fade, the smell of burned toast lingers)

It's easy to spiral here. You know what else I remember? [Insert past or present injustice] My paper feels like it's hopelessly floundering with what turns out to be two water-logged oars I had assumed that I was working with a 50-horsepower engine. Oh crap.

Just a little note to say that I'm not capable of much more than growling at the current moment. Not very bodhicitta of me, I know. But when you share yourself with others, it's not fair to just share the oh-so-serene parts, is it? Not honest, true, not quite grimy enough. And while I have no desire to spread negative energy, because goodness knows that there's enough of that floating around, this is where I'm at. I won't be here forever. But I'm here now. "Necessary spaces," says Kate. Indeed. I am certainly inhabiting this space, and it's not so cozy in here. Hmmm...

Things I'm (Pretty) Sure About

India's economy (see recent astronomical growth) is based around the manufacturing of faulty waterbottles and thermoses. Try and get tone that doesn't leak. I dare you.

Chai is the cure to lonesomeness.

Friends are the cure to loneliness.

It's better to reach out than to pretend you don't notice; it might catch someone mid-freefall.

Sleep makes the world look brighter. I promise.

You're not the only one. I promise here too.

Having a special stuffed animal is never a bad thing. Not even if you're 22. Or 34. Etcetera.

Drawing with friends is never a bad thing. (For further elaboration, see point above.)

Beards are fun. REAL fun.

Gelabie is like love- addictive, delicious, so sweet, messy, makes you very sick if you don't partake in moderation.

In India, halting attempts at speaking Hindi are met with smiles and chuckling. In France, halting French is received very differently. Mon dieu. Sub thik hai.

Drink more water!

It is without a doubt God who ordained that samosas and gelabies should go together. A burden and a blessing. Kind of like power.

Daytime soap operas are the same in every country. (Based on limited knowledge. Who's surprised? Reader thinks, "About what? Alex shooting her mouth off, or Alex not knowing much about daytime soaps?" Author responds,"Both." "Oh," says reader, "then neither.")

It's very handy to carry around a roll of toilet paper, not least because it's a good conversation starter.

Oh goodness...

“No one laughs at God in a hospital. No one laughs at god in a war.”

There's this song I've been listening too this morning. I woke up at 8:30, read something about I don't know what, and went back to sleep. I woke up at 11:30 in a haze, the kind that you feel when your body doesn't want you to wake up from, and you end up sleeping until the sun begins to go down and when you finally do get up the world drags your heels and your eyes ache from some magic spell which hasn't quite succeeded in making you sleep for 100 years like Cinderella but won't give up quite so easily. I woke up and this song was singing itself in my head; it's so weird when that happens, don't you think?

Anyway, it's a song that I generally skip over because it's so heartbreaking. I think that Regina Spektor might very well be a genius. This song reminds me of Tikva in the hospital, the sad and hurting part of my memory of Tikva. It reminds me of saying goodbye to the Thormars for who knows how long, of breaking up with Stan, of those people who capitalize on the uncertainty and fear of others, and live richly but still unhappily. It reminds me about how much we struggle and about how sometimes it seems like it really isn't worth it because we just end up getting smashed on the rocks after hours of working to stay afloat.

“God can be funny when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way or when presented like a genie with his magic like Houdini or grants wishes like Jimminey Cricket and Santa Clause. God can be so hilarious.”

++++++

Do you believe in God?
I don't know. It depends on the day.
Only on Wednesdays? Do you check in with him once a week?
No, not like that, not on a schedule.
If you do talk to him, will you pray for me? I could really use it.
I'll do my best.

P.S.

I went to the Taj Mahal.

Lost In Transfiguration

On Sunday, I wanted to meet up with my classmate Erika. Fabulous idea. We made the plan, and she told me to send her a text message if I needed to contact her.

A: Um...I don't have a cell phone.
E: Just use someone else's.
A: Uh...

So, I called her host family's house the night before the planned meeting, but Erika was off traipsing around Delhi. I called the next morning, the morning of our planned date, and nobody answered the phone. Feeling mild panic setting in, I asked my host father to borrow his cell phone and sent her a text message, hoping for an immediate response. The message was sent, but none came in response, and thus we all went on about our business, I with the assumption that Erika was otherwise engaged for the day. After my host father had left for work, we got a call from him, saying that Erika had written back. (Uh oh) Thus, my host father, through the telephone to my host sister Payal, recounted the text messages, from their original English, in Hindi. Payal proceeded to relay the messages to me, in English.

P: Your friend sent you three text messages.
A: Oh no. What did they say?
P: The first one says "Don't worry, I'm leaving at 9:35. I'll see you there." The second one says, "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I just talked to my host mother, and I can't leave until five. I'll see you there." The third one says "I'm here, where is the monument."
A: What?
P: (repeats messages)
A: So, is she going to meet me there at 5, or will she talk to me tomorrow?
P: ...

Clearly, something was not right. By the time I got the third message, I realized that the situation had gotten out of control, and I had better high-tail it to the nearest international phone-calling booth and figure out WHAT was going on.

E: Hello?
A: Hi, it's Alex.
E: Oh, hey! Where are you?
A: I'm still in Lagpat. Is it OK if I hop in a rickshaw and meet you now?
E: No, don't, everything's closed here. I'll come and meet you at the CCD (Cafe Coffee Day) in Central Market.
A: OK. See you there.

Upon our eventual connection, the truth was revealed- we had experienced a...I don't know, something which, whatever it was, didn't work properly. Or maybe it did work properly, and its function, whatever it was, was to confuse the bajeezus out of us all. The real text messages read as follows.

Text 1: Don't worry, I'm coming! I've no idea how long it will take, but I'll leave the house at 9:35. See you there!

Text 2: Had to talk to my host mom, I'll leave at 5 to. I'll be there!

Text 3: Where are you? I am here where we saw the puppies at the monument.*

Hahahahahahahahahaha.

* We had in fact planned on meeting at the monument in Haus Kaus Village, where we had previously seen puppies. FYI.

Kya?

Hi there. I've been thinking for a while that I should write a post. I've wanted to- really, but I've had some speed bumps along the way. I was in the clinic for a couple of days with a little something that we here like to call "Delhi Belly." I'll let you just think about that for a bit. There's a certain camaraderie which springs only from being able to share the experience of, let's call it...extra-regularity. It's easy to talk about here, as we've all had/are having/will have again/woke up screaming because of a nightmare in which the primary terror was, it. So much compassion arises from our shared pain. It's glorious, really.

++++++

So that was a couple of days. What next? I don't even know. I don't know anything for sure. Except that, as first articulated by Kate, there is no such thing as too much butter. Anyway, after the few days recovering at, and then from, a stint at my new favorite place (not), here I am, I suppose. I missed a few days in there, but who knows where they went. Not me, as I said before.

There was one day when my theme song was this (see chorus).

There was another when I laughed at the aforementioned theme song. Also, I got a pedicure. But no nail polish. I know, can you even do that? Apparently you can. And while I felt slightly unfulfilled, looking down at my flesh-toned toes, I feel that I made the right decision. Since you asked.

++++++

Today I find myself in a similar place to that preceding my clinic stay. Delhi Belly dies hard. But it's not so bad this time, and at least now I know that if I do end up at the clinic (which I will most certainly not), they have wi-fi - a significant consolation.

Today was not my day. Started out with a little breakfast, and a little bit of what we affectionately call "vom-ing." Awesome (not the good kind). Came to school, where I was a bit out of sorts, and found that today was my day to get my butt kicked by our Hindi teacher. He has a tendency to pick one student every class and pick them apart, proselytising about how they didn't study enough and how they are not remembering the most basic lesson of the class. Today, that was me. On the up-side, I got to skip cooking class, which brings me here.

I was also most disappointed to find that both of the kurtas which I just had shortened are now too short. In fact, I learned that my outfit today was the Indian equivalent of walking around in the States with a sports-coat and sweat pants. Or like Mr. Weasley or Prof. McGonagall when wearing muggle clothes, i.e. not good.

++++++

Speaking of Harry Potter, I will share with you probably the best part of my day. Here goes:

"In one of the Harry Potter books, the budding bodhisattva, Harry, is put under a curse that creates an extremely strong urge to give in to the kleshas and do harm. The power of Harry's intelligence and kindness, however, is even stronger. He doesn't believe the voices of the kleshas or get seduced by their promises of comfort, and so the curse doesn't work."

- Pema Chodron, "No Time to Lose: A Timely Guide to the Way of the Bodhisattva"

What does this mean, you ask? I've no idea. I think it has something to do with Harry's sacrificing his own happiness (for example, when he tells Ginny that he can't be with her because Voldemort will target her if they stay together) for that of all wizarding- and muggle-kind. That's what the Bodhisattvas do- put off their own attainment of Nirvana and escape from the cycle of reincarnation in order to help others to attain Nirvana. Either that, or it's a recipe for tuna fish salad. I was a little unclear on that.

I suppose that's all for now. Back to studying. I should know how to say that in Hindi. Hmm...

If I was that cool

So, yeah. I went to Marc 49 the other day. Oh, you don't know it? I go there all the time- the wine bar on Telegraph and 51st? Yeah. I was there, and reading Bourdieu, listening to the Mountain Goats. Yeah, and of course I had on my converse, skinny jeans, flannel shirt, black eyeliner. I had ridden my fixed-gear over from home, so my sock was rolled up over my right pant leg, but I just left it there. No, I didn't wear a helmet because it would mess up my bangs. So I was reading, and this guy came up to me and asked me if I was reading Pierre Bourdieu, the sociologist who wrote about Doxa, and I said yeah. So he sat down and we had an in-depth conversation about the illusions that we take to be common sense, the norm, that are imposed upon us, into which we are indoctrinated from birth. Yeah, it was deep. Then he asked me about what I had been listening to, and that got us started talking about indie rock groups, our favorite small venues, etc. Then, he told me (his name is Holden, by the way) about this show he was going to see tomorrow, a band his friend is in. He invited me to come along (we could ride our fixies), and I said sure. I gave him my number, and he said he'd call me tomorrow morning. What did you do today?

Note to Self...

A hole-in-the-ear does not heal a hole-in-the-heart.

In fact, it produces an effect which may be closely likened to the aforementioned hole-in-the-heart (barring, of course, the fact that the whole-in-the-heart is a metaphorical hole, and not a hole as such.)

Thus, a hole-in-the-ear may in fact produce a result close to the opposite of that desired, in terms of hole-filling and pain-alleviating.

It does, however, fulfill the purpose of angsty-ascetic-tragedy-dom which may be desirable under certain hipster-aspiring circumstances.