I just finished a delicious Chinese soy bean drink after spending $100.
Let's reflect.
In the Month of May, I spend $86. Total. And in an hour, I spent $100. Counting the Soy Bean goodness, it's obvious: I'm in the capital.
Not only that. I LIVE there.
I am the new Gender and Development (GAD) Coordinator for PC Tonga! I am working with Tonga Family Health (basically Plan Parenthood...which is awesome), and will be the head hancho for Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). There are other responsibilities including health projects and other gender-focused projects, but that's the low-down and I am TOTALLY EXCITED!
So what happened?
I loved my community in 'Eua...I became integrated with more families, loved all my students, and liked my house and location...but school was a problem.
As a volunteer, I am placed in a school/community thatis willing to support a volunteer, but who needs the volunteer's support in some way of improving life. Mine was in Education. So I taught English, worked on the library, and tried to work with my principal and counterpart however they needed help. But I was playing tug-of-war when the other side of the rope was vacant. (Technically, I don't think that makes sense, but I like it.) My teachers were extremely nice, but the willingness to support me was...unclear, nonexistent, and slightly confused. Basically, they weren't prepared to meet the responsibilities and accountabilities of having a PCV, so things just didn't work out. It was a sad farewell with my students and community, but I am too excited about my new job to be too down about life.
So...YAY! More to come soon. Just wanted to update!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Universal Education: Deer Liver Epiphanies, etc.
Universal Education:
Deer Liver Epiphanies, Useful Childhood Memories, and Embracing the Po-dunk
Sometimes I’m hesitant in exposing too much detail about my personal life (which is legitimately shocking, since I often shout to the heavens about my bowel movements). But in my experiences with other Americans, it’s often hard to be taken seriously because I’m from a state that when pronounced, emphasizes any smidgen of a Southern accent. (Just try it. Ken-tuck-y. It comes out “Kinn-tuhhhck-eeey.) I did spend much of my teenage years neutralizing my accent as best I could—especially in college, when I realized that I judged others whose accent seemed incredibly Hillbilly to even me.
Luckily, Peace Corps has been much different. Some volunteers regard my accent as endearing or even normal, and I’ve stopped trying so hard to shorten my vowel sounds and annunciate all gerunds. Therefore, I’m more open with story-telling about living on a beautiful farm, eating pinto beans with pickle relish and cornbread (otherwise they taste like dirt stewed in a bellybutton), and my desperate urges for drinking tea the real way. Ice-cold and cavity-sweet.
Sometimes I think I even confuse people. I can weave a conversation with fibers of my trips to Belgium, Georgia Mud Fudge blizzards from Dairy Queen, Wordsworth’s poetry, my fear of pigeons, pitching college softball, and bottle feeding a calf in my childhood. Often, my fellow conversationalist will say, after playing the where-did-you-come-from game, “What do your parents do?”
Sometimes even I wonder if I was delivered by that cute stork or was perhaps a milkman accident, since my most bold and visible characteristics (flightiness, free spirited spontaneity, literature addiction, music preferences, and feeling unsettled with consistency,) differ greatly from my parents. It’s hard to relate lifestyles, but in the grand scheme of things, I got most of my character honest (and yes, I left out the ‘ly’ in that adverb to make a colloquialism.)
My dad has worked over 30 years in a factory, mows like his life depends on it, and manages a ginormous garden so well that even in my veggie-starved existence, I still turn up my nose at imported canned vegetables—those mushy, foul-tasting imposters. My mom is a high school secretary who missed her calling as the seamstress of my dream wardrobe and makes the best peach preserves you’ll ever taste. And whose lasagna makes Stouffer’s taste like moldy cardboard.
So maybe my own garden is still nonexistent (I lack my father’s persistence in starting tasks…and finishing them; what can I say, I have adult onset ADD!) But I’m a noted papaya jam-maker, a go-to cake-baker in my village, and, as I’ve recently discovered (which is the inspiration for this entry), my tolerance for handling raw meat is much greater than I credited myself.
Let me explain. I’ve been out of Clean Life for almost 9 months now, and in college, I rarely bought meat unless it was Albacore tuna packets or lunch meat on sale at Kroger. And in a culture where I can hear pigs being slaughtered and eat a chicken that probably annoyed me 2 weeks ago, meat isn’t appetizing to me. I don’t buy it, and I only eat it if it’s offered at the Sunday meal. If I’m given leftovers, I’ll use the cooked meat for soups or protein additions where my own lacking source comes from peanut butter.
In my recent delectable trip to Uoleva, the amazingly beautiful island in Ha’apai, I volunteered to skin and de-bone 4 kilos of chicken (thigh and drumstick attached on all of these) by candlelight, since our camping spot had no electricity. I was given a filet knife, a lamp, and a make-shift cutting board.
Immediately, my mind drifted to my kid-self squatting in the soft earth by a barn light just past dusk, when my dad had returned from a successful hunting trip. With my faithful dog by my side eating deer parts, my dirt-powdered hands poked at the deep-hued liver with a stick. “Look, Daddy! It’s like Jell-o!” I remember saying in my effortless country-talk. I never was a hunter myself, but I loved accompanying Dad on our outdoor dates through the autumn woods. I’ve always loved that wet earth smell, and didn’t even mind spraying myself with fox piss to keep my human odor from scaring off the future jerky and summer sausage. (Lord, my mouth is watering.)
Anyway, before I realized it, I was through two chicken quarters, reminiscing of Daddy-daughter dates in the woods and liver-poking extravaganzas. Suddenly I was surrounded by my PCV girlfriends, talking about how proud my Dad would be of my meat-cutting skills. A brief self-conscious moment left me at a pause, thinking of how I would possibly explain that statement…but I botched the hesitancy and started story-telling about deer liver and the beauty of juicy venison.
The funny thing? All the girls agreed. I wasn’t just a country bumpkin with jacked-up tales about playing with deer parts. It was a legitimately relative story. Within minutes we’d nearly completed a Forrest Gump Bubba- moment, when the shrimp farmer recites a lifetime menu of shrimp delicacies. (Deer steak, deer jerky, deer summer sausage, deer spaghetti, deer stew, lemon-pepper deer chops, etc.) Soon enough, my Maine friend and I were comparing stories when she found out I played with deer liver as a child. She began, “Oh my gosh, that sounds like me! I remember when my dad and brothers would hunt, and then there’d be a deer hanging from a tree, and…”
The stories lasted through four kilos of skinned, de-boned, fat-trimmed chicken pieces. After, we fed the bloody scraps to the dog.
Deer Liver Epiphanies, Useful Childhood Memories, and Embracing the Po-dunk
Sometimes I’m hesitant in exposing too much detail about my personal life (which is legitimately shocking, since I often shout to the heavens about my bowel movements). But in my experiences with other Americans, it’s often hard to be taken seriously because I’m from a state that when pronounced, emphasizes any smidgen of a Southern accent. (Just try it. Ken-tuck-y. It comes out “Kinn-tuhhhck-eeey.) I did spend much of my teenage years neutralizing my accent as best I could—especially in college, when I realized that I judged others whose accent seemed incredibly Hillbilly to even me.
Luckily, Peace Corps has been much different. Some volunteers regard my accent as endearing or even normal, and I’ve stopped trying so hard to shorten my vowel sounds and annunciate all gerunds. Therefore, I’m more open with story-telling about living on a beautiful farm, eating pinto beans with pickle relish and cornbread (otherwise they taste like dirt stewed in a bellybutton), and my desperate urges for drinking tea the real way. Ice-cold and cavity-sweet.
Sometimes I think I even confuse people. I can weave a conversation with fibers of my trips to Belgium, Georgia Mud Fudge blizzards from Dairy Queen, Wordsworth’s poetry, my fear of pigeons, pitching college softball, and bottle feeding a calf in my childhood. Often, my fellow conversationalist will say, after playing the where-did-you-come-from game, “What do your parents do?”
Sometimes even I wonder if I was delivered by that cute stork or was perhaps a milkman accident, since my most bold and visible characteristics (flightiness, free spirited spontaneity, literature addiction, music preferences, and feeling unsettled with consistency,) differ greatly from my parents. It’s hard to relate lifestyles, but in the grand scheme of things, I got most of my character honest (and yes, I left out the ‘ly’ in that adverb to make a colloquialism.)
My dad has worked over 30 years in a factory, mows like his life depends on it, and manages a ginormous garden so well that even in my veggie-starved existence, I still turn up my nose at imported canned vegetables—those mushy, foul-tasting imposters. My mom is a high school secretary who missed her calling as the seamstress of my dream wardrobe and makes the best peach preserves you’ll ever taste. And whose lasagna makes Stouffer’s taste like moldy cardboard.
So maybe my own garden is still nonexistent (I lack my father’s persistence in starting tasks…and finishing them; what can I say, I have adult onset ADD!) But I’m a noted papaya jam-maker, a go-to cake-baker in my village, and, as I’ve recently discovered (which is the inspiration for this entry), my tolerance for handling raw meat is much greater than I credited myself.
Let me explain. I’ve been out of Clean Life for almost 9 months now, and in college, I rarely bought meat unless it was Albacore tuna packets or lunch meat on sale at Kroger. And in a culture where I can hear pigs being slaughtered and eat a chicken that probably annoyed me 2 weeks ago, meat isn’t appetizing to me. I don’t buy it, and I only eat it if it’s offered at the Sunday meal. If I’m given leftovers, I’ll use the cooked meat for soups or protein additions where my own lacking source comes from peanut butter.
In my recent delectable trip to Uoleva, the amazingly beautiful island in Ha’apai, I volunteered to skin and de-bone 4 kilos of chicken (thigh and drumstick attached on all of these) by candlelight, since our camping spot had no electricity. I was given a filet knife, a lamp, and a make-shift cutting board.
Immediately, my mind drifted to my kid-self squatting in the soft earth by a barn light just past dusk, when my dad had returned from a successful hunting trip. With my faithful dog by my side eating deer parts, my dirt-powdered hands poked at the deep-hued liver with a stick. “Look, Daddy! It’s like Jell-o!” I remember saying in my effortless country-talk. I never was a hunter myself, but I loved accompanying Dad on our outdoor dates through the autumn woods. I’ve always loved that wet earth smell, and didn’t even mind spraying myself with fox piss to keep my human odor from scaring off the future jerky and summer sausage. (Lord, my mouth is watering.)
Anyway, before I realized it, I was through two chicken quarters, reminiscing of Daddy-daughter dates in the woods and liver-poking extravaganzas. Suddenly I was surrounded by my PCV girlfriends, talking about how proud my Dad would be of my meat-cutting skills. A brief self-conscious moment left me at a pause, thinking of how I would possibly explain that statement…but I botched the hesitancy and started story-telling about deer liver and the beauty of juicy venison.
The funny thing? All the girls agreed. I wasn’t just a country bumpkin with jacked-up tales about playing with deer parts. It was a legitimately relative story. Within minutes we’d nearly completed a Forrest Gump Bubba- moment, when the shrimp farmer recites a lifetime menu of shrimp delicacies. (Deer steak, deer jerky, deer summer sausage, deer spaghetti, deer stew, lemon-pepper deer chops, etc.) Soon enough, my Maine friend and I were comparing stories when she found out I played with deer liver as a child. She began, “Oh my gosh, that sounds like me! I remember when my dad and brothers would hunt, and then there’d be a deer hanging from a tree, and…”
The stories lasted through four kilos of skinned, de-boned, fat-trimmed chicken pieces. After, we fed the bloody scraps to the dog.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Back from a Remote Island
After a much-needed 2 week school break (4 days on an gorgeous uninhabited island called Uoleva), I'm back at site and...not quite refreshed due to a severe head cold and, of course, vegetable shortage.
BUT things are pretty cool. I worked at the first Camp GLOW of the year in Ha'apai, where my 2 month training took place, and absolutely fell IN LOVE with the camp.
I tie-dyed my first shirt(s), played ukulele for the girls, watched amazing dances, heard (and half-understood) some wonderful strong Tongan women describe many issues and circumstances they have faced and overcome in a patriarchal society, danced with new GLOW friends, got little sleep, and then camped out and lazed on the beach after all was over. Sounds pretty amazing. Because it was!
So. Dear friends. My next blog will be much more fulfilling, but I must beg you to check out the Peace Corps Partnership Program website to fundraise for the first Camp GLOW in 'Eua in september.... we need about $2600 and are getting a bit desperate. So if you can forward mass emails or ask co-workers, church groups, or any circle of friends (especially feminists!...haha) if they are interested in donating, your effort can help us make the first camp in 'Eua exactly what it needs to be: empowered by encouragement from those who give the support to girls who don't get encouraged very often.
Please and thank you!
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.donatenow&keyword=Kilchenmann
Cheers and blessings,
Jamie
BUT things are pretty cool. I worked at the first Camp GLOW of the year in Ha'apai, where my 2 month training took place, and absolutely fell IN LOVE with the camp.
I tie-dyed my first shirt(s), played ukulele for the girls, watched amazing dances, heard (and half-understood) some wonderful strong Tongan women describe many issues and circumstances they have faced and overcome in a patriarchal society, danced with new GLOW friends, got little sleep, and then camped out and lazed on the beach after all was over. Sounds pretty amazing. Because it was!
So. Dear friends. My next blog will be much more fulfilling, but I must beg you to check out the Peace Corps Partnership Program website to fundraise for the first Camp GLOW in 'Eua in september.... we need about $2600 and are getting a bit desperate. So if you can forward mass emails or ask co-workers, church groups, or any circle of friends (especially feminists!...haha) if they are interested in donating, your effort can help us make the first camp in 'Eua exactly what it needs to be: empowered by encouragement from those who give the support to girls who don't get encouraged very often.
Please and thank you!
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.donatenow&keyword=Kilchenmann
Cheers and blessings,
Jamie
Friday, June 17, 2011
Ode to Clean Life (a song)...with commentary
Hello friends! Sorry it's been 2 weeks. Busy life, crazy life, sometimes sad and whatnot, but I wrote a song and have performed it twice so far... once over the phone to my bff Kaitlin who had a really hard day, so when I finished it, I called her and serenaded with this parody. I wanted to preface this because I will provide commentary in parenthesis, so don't get confused. :) Malo 'aupito!
Ode to Clean Life (I've adopted "Clean Life" as a euphemism for "America" thanks to my 'Eua crew pals Paul and Bre.)
Get the wine from a bottle and not from a box (even in restaurants, it's a gamble)
and cuddle next to me with our warm fuzzy socks (we miss coldness...)
we'll order a pizza from a place down the block-- (oh, to have proximity of pizza)
Imagine a business that uses a clock (we cannot WAIT for delivery)
And after our bellies are drunk from all the bread ("makona" is bread drunk...it's one of my fav. Tongan words)
we'll watch a good movie with no Filipino cred (the most popular movies are Filipino extended mini-series and soap operas... and they are excrutiating)
we'll lay on a couch, and not a foam pad bed,
I think we'll start when the popcorn's ready (we dream of movies and popcorn)
(Chorus)
Who knew that we could be so glad
despite our polka dot legs (from mosquito bites, boils, bed bugs, scars)
'Oiaue, no work today ('Oiaue is my most-used Tongan word. Just an expression)
I have to say, I like this Clean Life Way.
I am just a girl from Kentucky
and I've grown fond of my pink little bucket (multi-purpose... for baths, dishes, vomiting, and even filling my toilet!)
but a bath from it don't take away the funky,
so a steamy hot shower makes me feel lucky (what's a hot shower again?)
No more chasin' rats in the middle of the night
or dousing the house with harmful pesticide (the black can smells like oranges)
no more wringin laundry to hang it on the line (I have callouses now)
though we'll miss that snow-globe, Pacific-night sky (BEAUTIFUL nights in 'Eua!)
(Chorus)
Who knew that we could be so glad despite our ice cold baths
'Oiaue, no work today, I have to say... I like this Clean Life Way
Now don'tcha be sad, the mem'ries won't drop,
we'll miss that life but not the root crop (if I eat 'ufi one more time...)
we've a nice road ahead without smelly pig flop
and you can talk to me with no guttural stop (the ' in Tongan requires a throat stop)
And we can build dreams from a head of lice (I see them crawling quite often)
look how we've grown, like a Tongan wife (almost ALL married women are obese)
though some of us should never touch a knife (like 'Eua pal Kim, who ran a knife through her hand while cutting a coconut)
it's time we take a jab at this clean life
Who knew that we could be so glad, despite our rodent nightmares
'Oiaue, real work today, (we often dream of like...making money)
I have to say... I like (or missed) this Clean Life Way
(Thank you... hope you enjoyed it. I hope to have a video soon!)
Ode to Clean Life (I've adopted "Clean Life" as a euphemism for "America" thanks to my 'Eua crew pals Paul and Bre.)
Get the wine from a bottle and not from a box (even in restaurants, it's a gamble)
and cuddle next to me with our warm fuzzy socks (we miss coldness...)
we'll order a pizza from a place down the block-- (oh, to have proximity of pizza)
Imagine a business that uses a clock (we cannot WAIT for delivery)
And after our bellies are drunk from all the bread ("makona" is bread drunk...it's one of my fav. Tongan words)
we'll watch a good movie with no Filipino cred (the most popular movies are Filipino extended mini-series and soap operas... and they are excrutiating)
we'll lay on a couch, and not a foam pad bed,
I think we'll start when the popcorn's ready (we dream of movies and popcorn)
(Chorus)
Who knew that we could be so glad
despite our polka dot legs (from mosquito bites, boils, bed bugs, scars)
'Oiaue, no work today ('Oiaue is my most-used Tongan word. Just an expression)
I have to say, I like this Clean Life Way.
I am just a girl from Kentucky
and I've grown fond of my pink little bucket (multi-purpose... for baths, dishes, vomiting, and even filling my toilet!)
but a bath from it don't take away the funky,
so a steamy hot shower makes me feel lucky (what's a hot shower again?)
No more chasin' rats in the middle of the night
or dousing the house with harmful pesticide (the black can smells like oranges)
no more wringin laundry to hang it on the line (I have callouses now)
though we'll miss that snow-globe, Pacific-night sky (BEAUTIFUL nights in 'Eua!)
(Chorus)
Who knew that we could be so glad despite our ice cold baths
'Oiaue, no work today, I have to say... I like this Clean Life Way
Now don'tcha be sad, the mem'ries won't drop,
we'll miss that life but not the root crop (if I eat 'ufi one more time...)
we've a nice road ahead without smelly pig flop
and you can talk to me with no guttural stop (the ' in Tongan requires a throat stop)
And we can build dreams from a head of lice (I see them crawling quite often)
look how we've grown, like a Tongan wife (almost ALL married women are obese)
though some of us should never touch a knife (like 'Eua pal Kim, who ran a knife through her hand while cutting a coconut)
it's time we take a jab at this clean life
Who knew that we could be so glad, despite our rodent nightmares
'Oiaue, real work today, (we often dream of like...making money)
I have to say... I like (or missed) this Clean Life Way
(Thank you... hope you enjoyed it. I hope to have a video soon!)
Friday, June 3, 2011
Call me a mirror
When you stay by yourself for an extended period of time, you find yourself doing a lot of weird things. Like tons of life-reflection, even life-fictionizing. (You mean I DIDN`T run into Donald Miller on a Portland streetcorner while talking on the phone to my friend Lauren and discussing deeply interesting spiritual things, at which time Don would stop, look at me, invite me to church, and then proceed to fall in love with me???) Right. That will happen AFTER PC.
A year-ish ago, I was a new, fresh, glowing college grad eating a Flying Cupcake cupcake in Indianapolis with my new amazing host family and new amazing roomie who I:d only met a few days before at the Nashville airport. That whole summer was about surviving missionary life obstacles, staying afloat with an unpaid internship, and hopping over to my second home, Belgium. I came home an absolute wreck because I had two options. Belgium missionary shenanigans or Peace Corps African (at the time) service. I was really really confused.
But. Here I am! Showering every 3-4 days. (Dont judge... you have running water!) Waking up early because I was too `busy` reading a book to plan for class, finally discerning the difference between church bells (which ring ALL the time) in my village, rocking out to new random songs on my ukulele, dreaming of random things... like being 9 months prego and chasing a jumping molokau in my parents bedroom, and surviving the mumbling, un-anunciated speech of my Tongan peers.
I do a lot of thinking. A lot of motivation and attitude-checking. A lot of friend-making. Tons of reading. Cockroach-killing, Ant-massacring (or eating...which is the same), family-missing. Story-telling.
The other night, one girl showed up for my night class (story of my life), and I let her draw a metaphorical picture for a poster contest in Fiji, and after she finished, she asked to braid my hair. It made me think of my first night in my new Ha`apai home, where I bonded with my host sisters by braiding their hair. (The Tongan braid is much stronger and much more intricate...my braid is sloppy from braiding my own hair for years.)
My awesome family sent me a coffee press, and I reflected on my relationsihp with coffee, starting with my late night adventures to Nashville with my dad for pitching lessons. (Sometimes I hardly remember I played softball like it was my entire being!) He and I would stop at a quick-stop gas station (oh to see one of those here...) and grab an uber-sweet cappuccino... now, I prefer my coffee black, if its strong enough and with good flavor.
And friend-reflecting. Oh, how I miss all my amazing friends (this includes family, as they are some of the best friends I have), and how I miss just being THERE. Just relaxing on a couch, having movie marathons, religious philosophizing, games-playing, life-contemplating, weekend-trip-planning.
In a year and a half, when I am permanently back in Clean Life (for however long that is), Reflection will be my middle name. Ohhhh friends, prepare yourself. And have a tape recorder ready for when I sleep... Im dreaming in Tongan, so I`m sure random languages will start spewing out in my dreams.
A year-ish ago, I was a new, fresh, glowing college grad eating a Flying Cupcake cupcake in Indianapolis with my new amazing host family and new amazing roomie who I:d only met a few days before at the Nashville airport. That whole summer was about surviving missionary life obstacles, staying afloat with an unpaid internship, and hopping over to my second home, Belgium. I came home an absolute wreck because I had two options. Belgium missionary shenanigans or Peace Corps African (at the time) service. I was really really confused.
But. Here I am! Showering every 3-4 days. (Dont judge... you have running water!) Waking up early because I was too `busy` reading a book to plan for class, finally discerning the difference between church bells (which ring ALL the time) in my village, rocking out to new random songs on my ukulele, dreaming of random things... like being 9 months prego and chasing a jumping molokau in my parents bedroom, and surviving the mumbling, un-anunciated speech of my Tongan peers.
I do a lot of thinking. A lot of motivation and attitude-checking. A lot of friend-making. Tons of reading. Cockroach-killing, Ant-massacring (or eating...which is the same), family-missing. Story-telling.
The other night, one girl showed up for my night class (story of my life), and I let her draw a metaphorical picture for a poster contest in Fiji, and after she finished, she asked to braid my hair. It made me think of my first night in my new Ha`apai home, where I bonded with my host sisters by braiding their hair. (The Tongan braid is much stronger and much more intricate...my braid is sloppy from braiding my own hair for years.)
My awesome family sent me a coffee press, and I reflected on my relationsihp with coffee, starting with my late night adventures to Nashville with my dad for pitching lessons. (Sometimes I hardly remember I played softball like it was my entire being!) He and I would stop at a quick-stop gas station (oh to see one of those here...) and grab an uber-sweet cappuccino... now, I prefer my coffee black, if its strong enough and with good flavor.
And friend-reflecting. Oh, how I miss all my amazing friends (this includes family, as they are some of the best friends I have), and how I miss just being THERE. Just relaxing on a couch, having movie marathons, religious philosophizing, games-playing, life-contemplating, weekend-trip-planning.
In a year and a half, when I am permanently back in Clean Life (for however long that is), Reflection will be my middle name. Ohhhh friends, prepare yourself. And have a tape recorder ready for when I sleep... Im dreaming in Tongan, so I`m sure random languages will start spewing out in my dreams.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Two (Not-So) Little Piggies
This little piggy was black,
this little piggy was brown
this little piggy likes to smack
the other little piggy around
because the first little piggy was a boy
and the other little piggy was a girl
and those little piggies like to toy
until their little piggy tails uncurl.
(A poem about piggy shenanigans I had to witness while walking through my village. I wanted to yell, 'get a room!' or 'find a pighole!' or 'don't do that sh** on the side of the road!')
this little piggy was brown
this little piggy likes to smack
the other little piggy around
because the first little piggy was a boy
and the other little piggy was a girl
and those little piggies like to toy
until their little piggy tails uncurl.
(A poem about piggy shenanigans I had to witness while walking through my village. I wanted to yell, 'get a room!' or 'find a pighole!' or 'don't do that sh** on the side of the road!')
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Of Love, Literature
`If I turned towards books, it was because they were the only sanctuary I knew, one I needed in order to survive, to protect some aspect of myself that was now in constant retreat.` from Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi.
(FOREWORD: THIS WILL BE IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE IM USING A DIFFERENT COMPUTER WITH A FUNKY KEYBOARD... BECAUSE ITS JAPANESE AND ITS EXHAUSTING TO HOLD DOWN THE SHIFT BUTTON. SO MY BAD GUYS. I PROMISE IM NOT YELLING AT YOU. AND FORGIVE MY LACK OF APOSTROPHES-- ITS IN A FUNNY PLACE THATS TOO AWKWARD TO REACH.)
JOURNAL ENTRY DOCUMENTED 5/20/11, 7 PM IN THE ITALIAN LEATHERBOUND NOTEBOOK MY WONDERFUL BROTHER BOUGHT ME AS A GOING AWAY PRESENT FROM BARNES AND NOBLE. THIS ENTRY BEGAN ON PAGE 288 OF THE JOURNAL AND ENDS ON 292. YES, I WRITE THAT MUCH.
IVE FALLEN IN LOVE AGAIN. IM NOT SURE WHEN IT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME--IN FACT, IM CONVINCED IT WAS A GRADUAL, SUBTLE PROCESS. I SOUGHT IT BECAUSE UPON ENTERING COLLEGE, I WAS GOOD AT ENGLISH. AND MY ANXIETY WAS, IN FACT, LITERATURE. I FELT SO SMALL AND UNWORTHY--IN FACT, I FELT missing COMPARED TO IT. DR LEE AT KWC (MY FIRST SCHOOL) ENCOURAGED ME IN ALL THINGS LITERATURE, AND AFTER I TRANSFERRED TO WKU, I REALIZED MY ENTHUSIASM AND HIGH ESTEEM TURNED TO A GREATER NEED, AND UNEXPLAINABLE PASSION. THE GREAT AUTHORS--OR MY FAVORITE ONES, ANYWAY--MADE ME ACCEPT THE NOT-SO-NEW LOVE OF MY LIFE.
READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN (BY NAFISI), AND ALSO CREDITING DOSTOEVSKY`S CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, HAS MADE ME WAKE UP TO MYSELF, MY INNER PASSION, MY SELF THAT ISN:T LOST. MY LOVE FOR LITERATURE.
SEE, I THINK PC IS MENTALLY TOUGHENING, BUT EQUALLY STRAINING, BECAUSE I FEEL THAT MY VERY BEING IS SHAPED INTO THIS QUESTION MARK. HERE, TONGANS HAVE THIS PERCEPTION OF ME: SINGLE PALANGI TEACHER WHO IS SOCIAL BUT PRIVATE AND HAS WEIRD HABITS AND DOESNT SHARE FOOD LIKE TONGANS.
BACK HOME, IM WORDS ON A BLOG PAGE OR A FACE IN A PICTURE FRAME. SOMETIMES A VOICE IN A 30-MIN PHONE CONVERSATION. BEFORE I LEFT, ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WORLD EMAILED THAT SHE FELT THAT MY GOING AWAY PARTY WAS LIKE A FUNERAL, AND SHE WAS REALLY UPSET THAT I WAS LEAVING FOR SO LONG. AT THE TIME I THOUGHT, WOAH--THATS MORBID, BUT NOW I UNDERSTAND. TO MYSELF, IM VACANT. AND I LITERALLY MEAN THAT, TO MYSELF. I STARE EMPTILY AND OFTEN AT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR. MOSTLY AT A WALL IN MY KITCHEN (TO WHICH IVE POSTED TONGAN PRONOUNS, HOPING THAT IN TIME, THOSE PRONOUNS WILL BE IMPRINTED IN MY BRAIN MATTER.) HERE, IN MY VILLAGE, IM PHYSICALLY PRESENT BUT EMOTIONALLY AND SPIRITUALLY GUARDED. THESE PEOPLE WON:T REALLY KNOW ME, AND THOUGH THEY CARE IN A TONGAN WAY (I.E. YOU NEED TONGAN FOOD AND A TONGAN HUSBAND), IM NOT REAL TO THEM. IM THEIR PALANGI PEACE CORPS PROJECTION OF WHAT A PALANGI PEACE CORPS IS. THEY DONT CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THE SPECIFICS OF MY SPECIFICS, BUT ONLY BECAUSE ITS COMPLETELY FOREIGN TO THEM. I MOSTLY ACCEPT THIS ROLE.
MY SELFISH SIDE DOESNT LIKE TO ACCEPT MY VACANCY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD, THOUGH. I FEEL HURT WHEN AN EMAIL I SENT A WEEK AGO IS LEFT UNANSWERED WHEN I HIKED MY ARSE OFF AND NO ONE OFFERED ME A RIDE AND I PLAYED $3 FOR ONE HOUR OF WORDS FROM HOME THAT DONT CURRENTLY EXIST.
ITS NOT THE GUILT TRIP IT SEEMS TO BE. I PROMISE. IN FACT, IT ACTUALL is SELFISH, BECAUSE MY SELF LOVE IS HURT THAT LIFE IN CLEAN LIFE GOES ON SO EASILY WITHOUT ME. AND THOUGH IM THE PEACE CORPS FRIEND, THE FAMILY MEMBER IN TONGA, AND MY `LEGACY` IS IN AMERICA, IM UNSEEN, UNTOUCHED, UNHEARD. NO ONE IS WITNESSING MY VASTLY IMPROVING AND CREATIVE COOKING ABILITIES, MY SILLY NEW HABITS (TOOTHPASTE IN THE FRIDGE, NOT FLUSHING WHEN I PEE), MY IMPROVING TONGAN SPEECH, MY SHOWER RITUALS, MY KID SIZED BED WITH MY FEET DANGLING OFF THE END, MY MOSQUITO NET BED CAVE, MY EYES THAT INSTANTLY TEAR FROM ONIONS OR A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT SKY. YOU CAN ONLY READ THESE THINGS- AND IF YOU KNOW ME- CAN PROBABLY HEAR MY VOICE. BUT ITS VERY TRYING, FEELING GHOST-LIKE. NOT SEEING MY YOUNGEST NIECE`S FIRST STEPS, MISSING MY BABY BROTHER:S COLLEGE GRADUATION NEXT YEAR, WANTING RANDOM GETAWAYS WITH MY BEST FRIENDS, NEEDING TO HEAR STORIES FROM MY AMAZINGLY SMART 3 YEAR OLD NIECE, EATING BROWNIE BATTER WITH MY SISTER. MY PARENTS` AMAZING HUGS. BECAUSE JUST AS IM VACANT FROM THEM, THEY, TOO, ARE ONLY WORDS IN EMAILS, FACES IN PICTURES, OR VOICES IN 30 MIN CONVOS (IF IM LUCKY AND MY PHONE COOPERATES.)
ALL THIS SOUNDS DEPRESSING, DOESNT IT? AS IF IM AT THE END OF MY WITS, AS THOUGH ILL NEVER AGAIN EAT BELGIAN CHOCOLATE OR SING INTO A SPATULA WITH MY MOM IN THE KITCHEN. BUT IM NOT DEPRESSED. IM UNDERSTANDING NOW WHERE SAD FEELINGS ARE PENETRATING FROM. AND I KNOW THAT ALL THIS READING ISNT A SAD, EMPTY FILLER TO EXTRA TIME ON MY HANDS.
I AM IN LOVE WITH LITERATURE BECAUSE ITS NOT JUST WORDS ON A PAGE. IT IS A WONDERFUL PLACE WHERE I EXPERIENCE SO MANY ENVIRONMENTS, SEE SO MANY CHARACTERS, FEEL THEIR TURMOIL AND JOYS, TASTE THEIR EMOTIONS, HEAR THEIR INTERACTIONS, ITS A PLACE WHERE IM NOT JUDGED AND DONT JUDGE (UNLESS ITS CONTEMPORARY CHRISTIAN FICTION. EESH.) AND THOUGH I LOVE THESE WORLDS, THEYRE NOT MINE, IM MERELY VISITING. BUT THAT EPIPHANIC MOMENT, THAT LOVELY, SURPRISING GROWTH TO MY OWN SOUL--THATS MINE TO KEEP.
BOOKS HAVE BEEN A CONSTANT COMPANION TO ME, ON A SERIOUS LEVEL, FOR 5 YEARS NOW. IVE SLEPT ON THEM, CUDDLED THEM, THROWN THEM, TOOK ENTHUSIASTIC NOTES IN THEM, SCHOWLED AT THEM, WEPT AT THEM, LAUGHED AT THEIR SARCASM, ENHALED THEIR WONDERFUL, FAMILIAR SMELL, AND CARESSED THEIR SMOOTH COVER.
I SUPPOSE I COULD SOUND PSYCHOTIC TO SOME. ITS OKAY, I ACCEPT IT. ALL I CAN SAY IS THAT WITH EVERY BOOK, A SMALL or large (IN CASES OF BLUE LIKE JAZZ BY DON MILLER OR THE CAGED VIRGIN BY AYAN HIRSI ALI), PIECE OF IGNORANCE IS SCRAPED AWAY. SURE, I GAIN KNOWLEDGE, BUT I GAIN UNDERSTANDING ABOUT THE WORLD, MYSELF. I SEE CHARACTERISTICS I STRIVE TO GAIN, BELIEFS I SEEK TO UNDERSTAND, PAIN I WISH I DIDNT. I SEE FAMILIARITY, RELATIVITY. SOMETIMES I SEE REFLECTIONS OF MYSELF: MY PAST SELF, A CRUDE AND JUDGMENTAL BUT CONFUSED GIRL WHO NEEDED TO FIND HERSELF.
AND ITS BECAUSE OF BOOKS THAT I UNVEILED WHO I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BIRTHED A PERSON I DIDNT NEARLY HATE ANYMORE. A GIRL WITH GENUINE COMPASSION, GOALS, CARES STRUGGLES. BECAUSE OF THOUSANDS, MILLIONS OF PAGES, I ESCAPED AND WAS FINALLY RELEASED.
IT ALL SOUNDS ROMANTIC, DOESNT IT? LIKE I SHOULD TAKE MR. LITERATURE HOME AND INTRODUCE HIM TO MY PARENTS OR SOMETHING. ITS ROMANTIC AND ITS SOMETHING A BOOK NERD WOULD SAY, WHICH MAKES IT FITTING THAT THE ROMANTIC PERIOD IS MY FAVORITE IN ART AND LITERATURE. BUT TRY AND HEAR MY CONVICTION IN THESE WORDS, TUCKED BETWEEN SYLLABLES AND SCRAPPY PUNCTUATION. AND ALL CAPS LETTERS. (SORRY, I HOPE YOUR EYES ARE ADJUSTED.)
IVE NEVER BEEN MORE PHYSICALLY ISOLATED OR ALONE, BUT EMOTIONALLY, I HAVE. GOOD NEWS IS THAT BOOKS PREVENT TOO MUCH SECLUSION. AND I DONT REALLY FEEL VICTIMIZED BY LONELINESS- IN FACT, BEING ALONE IS A BLESSING RIGHT NOW, MOST OF THE TIME. BUT IN MY SECLUSION, I CAN LOOK AT A CLIFF ON A CLOUDY DAY AND PICTURE A SCENE FROM A BRONTE OR AUSTEN NOVEL. I CAN HAVE A FRUITFUL BIBLE STUDY WITH A LOVELY WOMAN WHO HOLDS DIFFERENT BELIEFS FROM ME, BUT BECAUSE OF DON MILLER, ANN LAMOTT, AND JESUS HIMSELF, WE CAN PEACEFULLY MARVEL AT HOW COOL OF A GUY JESUS WAS. READING DOES THAT.
IVE THROWN MYSELF INTO THE WRITTEN WORD BECAUSE I DONT HAVE TO RUSH TO UNDERSTAND OR BE QUICK TOACT IN CONTRAST WITH THE SPOKEN WORD.IVE GOT TIME TO FORM OPINIONS, THEORIES, ATTACHMENTS. AND THIS SUITS ME BECAUSE THE SPOKEN WORD IS NOT MY STRENGTH. WHERE I FORMALLY WAS HASTY TO EXPRESS ILL-FORMED OPINIONS, NOW ID RATHER BE SILENT AND BROOD OVER SOMETHING IN MY NOTEBOOK. AND HERE, IM NOT VACANT, BUT ALIVE, FUNCTIONING, AND IN MY TRUE FORM.
*AUTHORS NOTE: THANKS FOR BARING WITH THE EYE-BOGGLING ALL CAPS AND QUITE SERIOUS SUBJECT MATTER. MAYBE NEXT TIME ILL TELL A JOKE. OR A FUNNY STORY. LIKE HOW I DREAM OF MY FATHER`S GRILLED BURGERS WHILE TRYING TO OVERCOME TERRIBLE CONSTIPATION DUE TO TOO MANY BREADS AND OTHER BOWEL-CLOGGING FOODS.
(FOREWORD: THIS WILL BE IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE IM USING A DIFFERENT COMPUTER WITH A FUNKY KEYBOARD... BECAUSE ITS JAPANESE AND ITS EXHAUSTING TO HOLD DOWN THE SHIFT BUTTON. SO MY BAD GUYS. I PROMISE IM NOT YELLING AT YOU. AND FORGIVE MY LACK OF APOSTROPHES-- ITS IN A FUNNY PLACE THATS TOO AWKWARD TO REACH.)
JOURNAL ENTRY DOCUMENTED 5/20/11, 7 PM IN THE ITALIAN LEATHERBOUND NOTEBOOK MY WONDERFUL BROTHER BOUGHT ME AS A GOING AWAY PRESENT FROM BARNES AND NOBLE. THIS ENTRY BEGAN ON PAGE 288 OF THE JOURNAL AND ENDS ON 292. YES, I WRITE THAT MUCH.
IVE FALLEN IN LOVE AGAIN. IM NOT SURE WHEN IT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME--IN FACT, IM CONVINCED IT WAS A GRADUAL, SUBTLE PROCESS. I SOUGHT IT BECAUSE UPON ENTERING COLLEGE, I WAS GOOD AT ENGLISH. AND MY ANXIETY WAS, IN FACT, LITERATURE. I FELT SO SMALL AND UNWORTHY--IN FACT, I FELT missing COMPARED TO IT. DR LEE AT KWC (MY FIRST SCHOOL) ENCOURAGED ME IN ALL THINGS LITERATURE, AND AFTER I TRANSFERRED TO WKU, I REALIZED MY ENTHUSIASM AND HIGH ESTEEM TURNED TO A GREATER NEED, AND UNEXPLAINABLE PASSION. THE GREAT AUTHORS--OR MY FAVORITE ONES, ANYWAY--MADE ME ACCEPT THE NOT-SO-NEW LOVE OF MY LIFE.
READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN (BY NAFISI), AND ALSO CREDITING DOSTOEVSKY`S CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, HAS MADE ME WAKE UP TO MYSELF, MY INNER PASSION, MY SELF THAT ISN:T LOST. MY LOVE FOR LITERATURE.
SEE, I THINK PC IS MENTALLY TOUGHENING, BUT EQUALLY STRAINING, BECAUSE I FEEL THAT MY VERY BEING IS SHAPED INTO THIS QUESTION MARK. HERE, TONGANS HAVE THIS PERCEPTION OF ME: SINGLE PALANGI TEACHER WHO IS SOCIAL BUT PRIVATE AND HAS WEIRD HABITS AND DOESNT SHARE FOOD LIKE TONGANS.
BACK HOME, IM WORDS ON A BLOG PAGE OR A FACE IN A PICTURE FRAME. SOMETIMES A VOICE IN A 30-MIN PHONE CONVERSATION. BEFORE I LEFT, ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WORLD EMAILED THAT SHE FELT THAT MY GOING AWAY PARTY WAS LIKE A FUNERAL, AND SHE WAS REALLY UPSET THAT I WAS LEAVING FOR SO LONG. AT THE TIME I THOUGHT, WOAH--THATS MORBID, BUT NOW I UNDERSTAND. TO MYSELF, IM VACANT. AND I LITERALLY MEAN THAT, TO MYSELF. I STARE EMPTILY AND OFTEN AT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR. MOSTLY AT A WALL IN MY KITCHEN (TO WHICH IVE POSTED TONGAN PRONOUNS, HOPING THAT IN TIME, THOSE PRONOUNS WILL BE IMPRINTED IN MY BRAIN MATTER.) HERE, IN MY VILLAGE, IM PHYSICALLY PRESENT BUT EMOTIONALLY AND SPIRITUALLY GUARDED. THESE PEOPLE WON:T REALLY KNOW ME, AND THOUGH THEY CARE IN A TONGAN WAY (I.E. YOU NEED TONGAN FOOD AND A TONGAN HUSBAND), IM NOT REAL TO THEM. IM THEIR PALANGI PEACE CORPS PROJECTION OF WHAT A PALANGI PEACE CORPS IS. THEY DONT CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THE SPECIFICS OF MY SPECIFICS, BUT ONLY BECAUSE ITS COMPLETELY FOREIGN TO THEM. I MOSTLY ACCEPT THIS ROLE.
MY SELFISH SIDE DOESNT LIKE TO ACCEPT MY VACANCY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD, THOUGH. I FEEL HURT WHEN AN EMAIL I SENT A WEEK AGO IS LEFT UNANSWERED WHEN I HIKED MY ARSE OFF AND NO ONE OFFERED ME A RIDE AND I PLAYED $3 FOR ONE HOUR OF WORDS FROM HOME THAT DONT CURRENTLY EXIST.
ITS NOT THE GUILT TRIP IT SEEMS TO BE. I PROMISE. IN FACT, IT ACTUALL is SELFISH, BECAUSE MY SELF LOVE IS HURT THAT LIFE IN CLEAN LIFE GOES ON SO EASILY WITHOUT ME. AND THOUGH IM THE PEACE CORPS FRIEND, THE FAMILY MEMBER IN TONGA, AND MY `LEGACY` IS IN AMERICA, IM UNSEEN, UNTOUCHED, UNHEARD. NO ONE IS WITNESSING MY VASTLY IMPROVING AND CREATIVE COOKING ABILITIES, MY SILLY NEW HABITS (TOOTHPASTE IN THE FRIDGE, NOT FLUSHING WHEN I PEE), MY IMPROVING TONGAN SPEECH, MY SHOWER RITUALS, MY KID SIZED BED WITH MY FEET DANGLING OFF THE END, MY MOSQUITO NET BED CAVE, MY EYES THAT INSTANTLY TEAR FROM ONIONS OR A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT SKY. YOU CAN ONLY READ THESE THINGS- AND IF YOU KNOW ME- CAN PROBABLY HEAR MY VOICE. BUT ITS VERY TRYING, FEELING GHOST-LIKE. NOT SEEING MY YOUNGEST NIECE`S FIRST STEPS, MISSING MY BABY BROTHER:S COLLEGE GRADUATION NEXT YEAR, WANTING RANDOM GETAWAYS WITH MY BEST FRIENDS, NEEDING TO HEAR STORIES FROM MY AMAZINGLY SMART 3 YEAR OLD NIECE, EATING BROWNIE BATTER WITH MY SISTER. MY PARENTS` AMAZING HUGS. BECAUSE JUST AS IM VACANT FROM THEM, THEY, TOO, ARE ONLY WORDS IN EMAILS, FACES IN PICTURES, OR VOICES IN 30 MIN CONVOS (IF IM LUCKY AND MY PHONE COOPERATES.)
ALL THIS SOUNDS DEPRESSING, DOESNT IT? AS IF IM AT THE END OF MY WITS, AS THOUGH ILL NEVER AGAIN EAT BELGIAN CHOCOLATE OR SING INTO A SPATULA WITH MY MOM IN THE KITCHEN. BUT IM NOT DEPRESSED. IM UNDERSTANDING NOW WHERE SAD FEELINGS ARE PENETRATING FROM. AND I KNOW THAT ALL THIS READING ISNT A SAD, EMPTY FILLER TO EXTRA TIME ON MY HANDS.
I AM IN LOVE WITH LITERATURE BECAUSE ITS NOT JUST WORDS ON A PAGE. IT IS A WONDERFUL PLACE WHERE I EXPERIENCE SO MANY ENVIRONMENTS, SEE SO MANY CHARACTERS, FEEL THEIR TURMOIL AND JOYS, TASTE THEIR EMOTIONS, HEAR THEIR INTERACTIONS, ITS A PLACE WHERE IM NOT JUDGED AND DONT JUDGE (UNLESS ITS CONTEMPORARY CHRISTIAN FICTION. EESH.) AND THOUGH I LOVE THESE WORLDS, THEYRE NOT MINE, IM MERELY VISITING. BUT THAT EPIPHANIC MOMENT, THAT LOVELY, SURPRISING GROWTH TO MY OWN SOUL--THATS MINE TO KEEP.
BOOKS HAVE BEEN A CONSTANT COMPANION TO ME, ON A SERIOUS LEVEL, FOR 5 YEARS NOW. IVE SLEPT ON THEM, CUDDLED THEM, THROWN THEM, TOOK ENTHUSIASTIC NOTES IN THEM, SCHOWLED AT THEM, WEPT AT THEM, LAUGHED AT THEIR SARCASM, ENHALED THEIR WONDERFUL, FAMILIAR SMELL, AND CARESSED THEIR SMOOTH COVER.
I SUPPOSE I COULD SOUND PSYCHOTIC TO SOME. ITS OKAY, I ACCEPT IT. ALL I CAN SAY IS THAT WITH EVERY BOOK, A SMALL or large (IN CASES OF BLUE LIKE JAZZ BY DON MILLER OR THE CAGED VIRGIN BY AYAN HIRSI ALI), PIECE OF IGNORANCE IS SCRAPED AWAY. SURE, I GAIN KNOWLEDGE, BUT I GAIN UNDERSTANDING ABOUT THE WORLD, MYSELF. I SEE CHARACTERISTICS I STRIVE TO GAIN, BELIEFS I SEEK TO UNDERSTAND, PAIN I WISH I DIDNT. I SEE FAMILIARITY, RELATIVITY. SOMETIMES I SEE REFLECTIONS OF MYSELF: MY PAST SELF, A CRUDE AND JUDGMENTAL BUT CONFUSED GIRL WHO NEEDED TO FIND HERSELF.
AND ITS BECAUSE OF BOOKS THAT I UNVEILED WHO I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BIRTHED A PERSON I DIDNT NEARLY HATE ANYMORE. A GIRL WITH GENUINE COMPASSION, GOALS, CARES STRUGGLES. BECAUSE OF THOUSANDS, MILLIONS OF PAGES, I ESCAPED AND WAS FINALLY RELEASED.
IT ALL SOUNDS ROMANTIC, DOESNT IT? LIKE I SHOULD TAKE MR. LITERATURE HOME AND INTRODUCE HIM TO MY PARENTS OR SOMETHING. ITS ROMANTIC AND ITS SOMETHING A BOOK NERD WOULD SAY, WHICH MAKES IT FITTING THAT THE ROMANTIC PERIOD IS MY FAVORITE IN ART AND LITERATURE. BUT TRY AND HEAR MY CONVICTION IN THESE WORDS, TUCKED BETWEEN SYLLABLES AND SCRAPPY PUNCTUATION. AND ALL CAPS LETTERS. (SORRY, I HOPE YOUR EYES ARE ADJUSTED.)
IVE NEVER BEEN MORE PHYSICALLY ISOLATED OR ALONE, BUT EMOTIONALLY, I HAVE. GOOD NEWS IS THAT BOOKS PREVENT TOO MUCH SECLUSION. AND I DONT REALLY FEEL VICTIMIZED BY LONELINESS- IN FACT, BEING ALONE IS A BLESSING RIGHT NOW, MOST OF THE TIME. BUT IN MY SECLUSION, I CAN LOOK AT A CLIFF ON A CLOUDY DAY AND PICTURE A SCENE FROM A BRONTE OR AUSTEN NOVEL. I CAN HAVE A FRUITFUL BIBLE STUDY WITH A LOVELY WOMAN WHO HOLDS DIFFERENT BELIEFS FROM ME, BUT BECAUSE OF DON MILLER, ANN LAMOTT, AND JESUS HIMSELF, WE CAN PEACEFULLY MARVEL AT HOW COOL OF A GUY JESUS WAS. READING DOES THAT.
IVE THROWN MYSELF INTO THE WRITTEN WORD BECAUSE I DONT HAVE TO RUSH TO UNDERSTAND OR BE QUICK TOACT IN CONTRAST WITH THE SPOKEN WORD.IVE GOT TIME TO FORM OPINIONS, THEORIES, ATTACHMENTS. AND THIS SUITS ME BECAUSE THE SPOKEN WORD IS NOT MY STRENGTH. WHERE I FORMALLY WAS HASTY TO EXPRESS ILL-FORMED OPINIONS, NOW ID RATHER BE SILENT AND BROOD OVER SOMETHING IN MY NOTEBOOK. AND HERE, IM NOT VACANT, BUT ALIVE, FUNCTIONING, AND IN MY TRUE FORM.
*AUTHORS NOTE: THANKS FOR BARING WITH THE EYE-BOGGLING ALL CAPS AND QUITE SERIOUS SUBJECT MATTER. MAYBE NEXT TIME ILL TELL A JOKE. OR A FUNNY STORY. LIKE HOW I DREAM OF MY FATHER`S GRILLED BURGERS WHILE TRYING TO OVERCOME TERRIBLE CONSTIPATION DUE TO TOO MANY BREADS AND OTHER BOWEL-CLOGGING FOODS.
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