May 15, 2006
Coming home can be difficult and beautiful.
Especially when 'home' itself is undefined; it is relative and changes person to person. What is a home anyway, and what constitutes the name of 'home' in a certain place? Is it the people that remain there, or the memories latched onto small things, like buildings, facades, or porch swings? Does 'home' mean a place where a certain feeling is felt?
Because when I am in Seattle, among the buses whirring by, and the sights and smells and sounds, with the Olympic mountains decorating the horizon, I feel like I am home. But so much of me wanted to remain in Moscow this last weekend... where I touched up on memories I felt were left unfinished and was given the opportunity to meet new people as well. The rolling hills and the hearts of the people captivate me, and I am at a loss.
'Belong' is probably a word that is relative too.
Because I couldn't pick a place where I belong above the other. And wherever I am, it seems like I am wishing to be living someplace else.
A mystery.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
this makes no sense
April 28, 2006
The silence is deafening as I sit alone, watching credits of yet another late night movie rolling by. I flip on a few lights and migrate to change into a sweatshirt, when my reflection catches my eye. I spend a few moments pouring over my exhausted blue eyes, my faded brown hair... "You look sad," I whisper to the stranger I see. "Keep your chin up. There's tomorrow." A melody sings from my stereo as I steal a quick glance around my room. A picture from tour catches my eye, and I rest for a moment in the smiles and the laughter I remember so clearly.
Flashes of time are spinning before me, and I see Brenton singing to Miranda, and Becca wiping away my tears one lonely night, and Seth whipping out his guitar, and Faith kneeling beside me to hold me. I remember lives changed, and every night a new stage. I remember what it felt like to change the world and to feel the world changing. It all seems so distant now, so many months later. I wonder how things have fared for them. Were they really 'committed' like we all claimed? Or did they slip at the first opportunity to fail miserably. Like me.
Late nights have a tendancy to get me down. And I don't really have nights that aren't late.
Definitely not by my own choosing. The hours dwindle away and I try to avoid watching the clock, but when it reaches midnight and I have no physical desire to sleep yet, there just isn't any place I can go.
It's empty here, at this hour. And it's dark. But it's a waste of money to just turn on lots of lights for my own self satisfaction (there's always the Oreck I suppose). It's too early to go out to Denny's. It's too late to make phone calls that wouldn't freak people out. I spend countless hours watching movies by myself just passing time hoping that my eyes will get tired. All the while I assure myself that, no, I am not without many friends that care about me. No. I have many friends. The problem doesn't lie there.
Is it in my dreams? I feel like it is sometimes. Does the issue lie in the places I long to visit and to see. Is it wrong or weird to want to just skip out on all the tourist attractions and GPA's and transcripts, and just go feed someone who's hungry? Or play the guitar with a homeless person? Or hug the little girl whose school and food I have the honor of paying for? It's a small price to pay for a life. A small thing to sacrifice so that a little girl can know she is loved.
I sit here useless. I dream of change, and of living in Buenos Aires and studying to become a teacher so I can teach people how to read and write in countries less fortunate than ours... yet here I stand. On the western coast of one of the biggest empires this world has ever known, more blessed than 97 percent of the rest of humankind. And my hands sit idle. I dream of visiting the families I met in Spain, and getting to know their culture and their lives and their hopes and dreams... the things they wake up every day for... I want to know all of that.
Maybe late nights just make me frusterated. But it's me! It's Dayna! My life is supposed to change lives. I'm supposed to actually do something with my guitar instead of just sit on it. I'm supposed to make a difference instead of just talking about making a difference. These eyes were meant to see the world... to walk the sands of Egypt and to see the mountains of Peru. To teach little kids that they're loved, and that they have potential, and that they can read and write.
I want to make a difference. And on nights like these it eats away at me like some disease. DO something... anything!... GO somewhere... anywhere!
There is so much of me that is kicking and screaming to just live. To really live. Not just exist somewhere, on one planet out of trillions in a universe of endless proportions. No. Not for me.
I will not go down without a fight. Apathy won't get me.
The silence is deafening as I sit alone, watching credits of yet another late night movie rolling by. I flip on a few lights and migrate to change into a sweatshirt, when my reflection catches my eye. I spend a few moments pouring over my exhausted blue eyes, my faded brown hair... "You look sad," I whisper to the stranger I see. "Keep your chin up. There's tomorrow." A melody sings from my stereo as I steal a quick glance around my room. A picture from tour catches my eye, and I rest for a moment in the smiles and the laughter I remember so clearly.
Flashes of time are spinning before me, and I see Brenton singing to Miranda, and Becca wiping away my tears one lonely night, and Seth whipping out his guitar, and Faith kneeling beside me to hold me. I remember lives changed, and every night a new stage. I remember what it felt like to change the world and to feel the world changing. It all seems so distant now, so many months later. I wonder how things have fared for them. Were they really 'committed' like we all claimed? Or did they slip at the first opportunity to fail miserably. Like me.
Late nights have a tendancy to get me down. And I don't really have nights that aren't late.
Definitely not by my own choosing. The hours dwindle away and I try to avoid watching the clock, but when it reaches midnight and I have no physical desire to sleep yet, there just isn't any place I can go.
It's empty here, at this hour. And it's dark. But it's a waste of money to just turn on lots of lights for my own self satisfaction (there's always the Oreck I suppose). It's too early to go out to Denny's. It's too late to make phone calls that wouldn't freak people out. I spend countless hours watching movies by myself just passing time hoping that my eyes will get tired. All the while I assure myself that, no, I am not without many friends that care about me. No. I have many friends. The problem doesn't lie there.
Is it in my dreams? I feel like it is sometimes. Does the issue lie in the places I long to visit and to see. Is it wrong or weird to want to just skip out on all the tourist attractions and GPA's and transcripts, and just go feed someone who's hungry? Or play the guitar with a homeless person? Or hug the little girl whose school and food I have the honor of paying for? It's a small price to pay for a life. A small thing to sacrifice so that a little girl can know she is loved.
I sit here useless. I dream of change, and of living in Buenos Aires and studying to become a teacher so I can teach people how to read and write in countries less fortunate than ours... yet here I stand. On the western coast of one of the biggest empires this world has ever known, more blessed than 97 percent of the rest of humankind. And my hands sit idle. I dream of visiting the families I met in Spain, and getting to know their culture and their lives and their hopes and dreams... the things they wake up every day for... I want to know all of that.
Maybe late nights just make me frusterated. But it's me! It's Dayna! My life is supposed to change lives. I'm supposed to actually do something with my guitar instead of just sit on it. I'm supposed to make a difference instead of just talking about making a difference. These eyes were meant to see the world... to walk the sands of Egypt and to see the mountains of Peru. To teach little kids that they're loved, and that they have potential, and that they can read and write.
I want to make a difference. And on nights like these it eats away at me like some disease. DO something... anything!... GO somewhere... anywhere!
There is so much of me that is kicking and screaming to just live. To really live. Not just exist somewhere, on one planet out of trillions in a universe of endless proportions. No. Not for me.
I will not go down without a fight. Apathy won't get me.
an ode to coffee and my girls
April 25, 2006
I have a deep appreciation for people who love coffee as much as I do.
I have an even deeper appreciation for the girls that introduced me to my loving of coffee. It's true. Before moving here, I had coffee perhaps once a week. Maybe twice if I was feeling in the mood. It was reserved for days that I would, for one reason or another, deem worthy of a cup of steaming hot goodness. After moving to the 'other side' of the mountains, however, and becoming assimilated into their culture, I have come to find something very important. The most seasoned of my memories with 'my girls' over here; the memories with the most passion and spirit and adventure; the ones that carried the best conversations and the heaviest debates; the ones that helped us along the journey to making decisions that will shape the rest of our lives... they all happened over coffee.
I'm not assuming that coffee has magical properties, or that coffee is the maker of all things good, or that life without coffee is an empty existance. Just simply stating that when people from 'out of the area' (you know, those people that carry umbrellas... we call them tourists) think of us as being addicted to the coffee, or the caffeine, or the mochas that they deem as overpriced, that they are misunderstanding the entire concept of why we do what we do.
It's about people. It's about community. It's about relationships. It's about feeling a part of the world that is so much bigger than just yourself and who you are with (if anyone). It's about an idea: that people can gather together for the purpose of good conversation, or reading a good book, or just enjoying a nonfat black and white mocha with no whip, and know that thousands of miles away, at a Starbucks somewhere in Philly, Madrid, London, and Zurich (yes I've been to all of them, so I know they exist), someone else is doing the same thing. Coffee is just a wonderful added bonus. Yes, the topic of conversation varies. Yes, the prices vary from dollars, to pounds, to franks, to euros and back to dollars again. But somewhere in the world, as you read these words, someone is seeking familiarity and comfort in a cup of coffee. It would be silly to say that all my memories are measured tall, grande, or venti... but a good portion of them are.
And that leads me back to the beginning. My girls.
There is something beautiful about being able to call up Bri and meet her once again at the Starbuck on Rose Hill, even if all we will do is laugh about good memories and sigh about when Brittany is coming home and how much we wish Shani was there too. Even if no life changing decisions are made, and no new favorite memories are created, it is the beauty and grace of something so simple as knowing you have gone through think and thin with someone, and still meet them for coffee.
We're getting older, and making decisions, and getting our apartments for the first time, and getting ready for the great reunion of all of us girls again for the few precious months this summer. We will laugh, and we will lay in the sun together, and we will drink coffee together in Kirkland again. I have no doubt that before it's started, it will be over again, and we will be sorry to see another summer come and go so quickly. But I also have no doubt that come the holidays, and come the following summers, we will still carry on.
We are intrepid. We are timeless. Our friendship runs deeper than geographical separation and time between our visits. That's the beauty of true friendship. We represent everything... art, music, athletics, writing, conservatives, liberals, blondes, brunettes, introverts, extroverts, and beauty of every kind and color and fashion. We think alike. And we think differently. It has been proved that no matter how long it's been, we can always pick up where we left off. That is what's beautiful about who we all are, individually and as a whole. At the end of the day, whether I am singing to people someplace random in Europe, or sitting back in my living room in Duvall, I know that there five girls out there that know what they believe, why they believe in it, and are intensely passionate about living life, and living it well.
I will always love them. And I will always love the thing that brought us together the most often... coffee.
"Let the world change you, and you can change the world." -Ernesto "Che" Guevara
I have a deep appreciation for people who love coffee as much as I do.
I have an even deeper appreciation for the girls that introduced me to my loving of coffee. It's true. Before moving here, I had coffee perhaps once a week. Maybe twice if I was feeling in the mood. It was reserved for days that I would, for one reason or another, deem worthy of a cup of steaming hot goodness. After moving to the 'other side' of the mountains, however, and becoming assimilated into their culture, I have come to find something very important. The most seasoned of my memories with 'my girls' over here; the memories with the most passion and spirit and adventure; the ones that carried the best conversations and the heaviest debates; the ones that helped us along the journey to making decisions that will shape the rest of our lives... they all happened over coffee.
I'm not assuming that coffee has magical properties, or that coffee is the maker of all things good, or that life without coffee is an empty existance. Just simply stating that when people from 'out of the area' (you know, those people that carry umbrellas... we call them tourists) think of us as being addicted to the coffee, or the caffeine, or the mochas that they deem as overpriced, that they are misunderstanding the entire concept of why we do what we do.
It's about people. It's about community. It's about relationships. It's about feeling a part of the world that is so much bigger than just yourself and who you are with (if anyone). It's about an idea: that people can gather together for the purpose of good conversation, or reading a good book, or just enjoying a nonfat black and white mocha with no whip, and know that thousands of miles away, at a Starbucks somewhere in Philly, Madrid, London, and Zurich (yes I've been to all of them, so I know they exist), someone else is doing the same thing. Coffee is just a wonderful added bonus. Yes, the topic of conversation varies. Yes, the prices vary from dollars, to pounds, to franks, to euros and back to dollars again. But somewhere in the world, as you read these words, someone is seeking familiarity and comfort in a cup of coffee. It would be silly to say that all my memories are measured tall, grande, or venti... but a good portion of them are.
And that leads me back to the beginning. My girls.
There is something beautiful about being able to call up Bri and meet her once again at the Starbuck on Rose Hill, even if all we will do is laugh about good memories and sigh about when Brittany is coming home and how much we wish Shani was there too. Even if no life changing decisions are made, and no new favorite memories are created, it is the beauty and grace of something so simple as knowing you have gone through think and thin with someone, and still meet them for coffee.
We're getting older, and making decisions, and getting our apartments for the first time, and getting ready for the great reunion of all of us girls again for the few precious months this summer. We will laugh, and we will lay in the sun together, and we will drink coffee together in Kirkland again. I have no doubt that before it's started, it will be over again, and we will be sorry to see another summer come and go so quickly. But I also have no doubt that come the holidays, and come the following summers, we will still carry on.
We are intrepid. We are timeless. Our friendship runs deeper than geographical separation and time between our visits. That's the beauty of true friendship. We represent everything... art, music, athletics, writing, conservatives, liberals, blondes, brunettes, introverts, extroverts, and beauty of every kind and color and fashion. We think alike. And we think differently. It has been proved that no matter how long it's been, we can always pick up where we left off. That is what's beautiful about who we all are, individually and as a whole. At the end of the day, whether I am singing to people someplace random in Europe, or sitting back in my living room in Duvall, I know that there five girls out there that know what they believe, why they believe in it, and are intensely passionate about living life, and living it well.
I will always love them. And I will always love the thing that brought us together the most often... coffee.
"Let the world change you, and you can change the world." -Ernesto "Che" Guevara
vacant dreams
April 9, 2006
An empty page.
It glares up at me like I'm guilty of wasting the trees that were cut down to somehow formulate itself. There's a pencil in my hand, and something in me is crying out to write something, but no words will come. Sighing in annoyance at my lack of originality, I pick up the notebook and rest it on the higher octaves of my piano keys to use later when words will come. I adjust the mic stand so that it rests a few inches short of my chin, and I routinely go through a check of the keyboard.... power on... reverb off... classic and modern piano combined... the mains are on... it is finished.
I take a sip of the chai that rests a few feet away on a desk, and then turn to face the monster that is my own lack of genious. It couldn't have been this hard for all those bands that have come before me to just come up with some stupid lyrics to sing. Why does it suck so much for me? I wonder as I chuckle a little, thinking of all the people who admire my few songs.
Good Lord, I haven't done this forever. The light is subtly reflecting off of my guitar [Lailani] resting in the corner; I'll tackle that later. For now the mass of black and white keys is what concerns me. An empty audience of chairs and moniters and music equipment watches me as I tentatively graze the surface of the keyboard with my fingertips before letting a melody fill the empty corners of the garage.
It's my typical progression (C, Am, G, F, and C again) that I always use when just starting out with a new song. To find my pitch. To figure out whether I want to let my voice ring high or reverb low. That might be the hardest part of this whole thing. Thinking of how I must look makes me feel a little dumb. Just standing there in my all american rejects shirt and torn up and faded jeans, my hair pulled up into something messy, just waiting. For what, I'm never exactly sure. But I probably look odd regardless. Unsure.
What will it be like someday, if everything is how I want it to be? If I finish college and get to just sing for awhile? If I get to do concerts again and sell CD's again, and get to just write. When the lights fade and the curtain falls will I still feel the same? When I sign a few autographs here and there like I got to do last summer, will it bring back the same adrenaline and spirit that it brought me before?
My dreams seem so vacant sometimes; like they aren't mine anymore, they're just things that have to be done. Like trying to write a song today. Who am I writing it for anyway? How many worthless pages will I have to go through until I find another song that actually means something to me? I have a few that I love to play; that make me feel something when I sing them; that make me relive the way I felt when the words were first poured out. But the rest are just... missing something. And I wish I knew what it was.
Empty pages are the bane of my existance.
An empty page.
It glares up at me like I'm guilty of wasting the trees that were cut down to somehow formulate itself. There's a pencil in my hand, and something in me is crying out to write something, but no words will come. Sighing in annoyance at my lack of originality, I pick up the notebook and rest it on the higher octaves of my piano keys to use later when words will come. I adjust the mic stand so that it rests a few inches short of my chin, and I routinely go through a check of the keyboard.... power on... reverb off... classic and modern piano combined... the mains are on... it is finished.
I take a sip of the chai that rests a few feet away on a desk, and then turn to face the monster that is my own lack of genious. It couldn't have been this hard for all those bands that have come before me to just come up with some stupid lyrics to sing. Why does it suck so much for me? I wonder as I chuckle a little, thinking of all the people who admire my few songs.
Good Lord, I haven't done this forever. The light is subtly reflecting off of my guitar [Lailani] resting in the corner; I'll tackle that later. For now the mass of black and white keys is what concerns me. An empty audience of chairs and moniters and music equipment watches me as I tentatively graze the surface of the keyboard with my fingertips before letting a melody fill the empty corners of the garage.
It's my typical progression (C, Am, G, F, and C again) that I always use when just starting out with a new song. To find my pitch. To figure out whether I want to let my voice ring high or reverb low. That might be the hardest part of this whole thing. Thinking of how I must look makes me feel a little dumb. Just standing there in my all american rejects shirt and torn up and faded jeans, my hair pulled up into something messy, just waiting. For what, I'm never exactly sure. But I probably look odd regardless. Unsure.
What will it be like someday, if everything is how I want it to be? If I finish college and get to just sing for awhile? If I get to do concerts again and sell CD's again, and get to just write. When the lights fade and the curtain falls will I still feel the same? When I sign a few autographs here and there like I got to do last summer, will it bring back the same adrenaline and spirit that it brought me before?
My dreams seem so vacant sometimes; like they aren't mine anymore, they're just things that have to be done. Like trying to write a song today. Who am I writing it for anyway? How many worthless pages will I have to go through until I find another song that actually means something to me? I have a few that I love to play; that make me feel something when I sing them; that make me relive the way I felt when the words were first poured out. But the rest are just... missing something. And I wish I knew what it was.
Empty pages are the bane of my existance.
the epitaph of the taurus
We always had a bond between us somehow, it was just a little hard to explain to anyone who asked. I remember that in the beginning you were a drifter; youd never stayed with friends for long. Friends were for fun times, but not all times you were a drifter, and I was trying to find my place - I was the new kid. You were the one with the somewhat undeserved bad reputation. Somehow the pieces just came together. It seemed like an oddly matched pair of fiends there was me, the sophomore in high school, and you, the fraternity boy from the University of Idaho. At first it was just you and me. We would drive around in your Taurus almost every day.
There were times we had nowhere to go and nothing to do in fact that was most times. Days passed when nothing would be accomplished, no vivid memories would be formed, and no life-changing conversations took place. Wed simply drive around, you and me and the Taurus, drinking our almond steamers from that little coffee shop on the corner near Theta Chi. I remember you introducing me to steamers and cheap college coffee, telling me that Starbucks wasnt always the way to go especially when you have no income and youre living on ramen and macaroni and cheese.
My house became your house. My mom became your mom. The Taurus became our retreat some might say institution. My school got out at noon, so youd pick me up and wed drive home. I would change out of my hideous mock-Irish school uniform. Then wed just drive. Sometimes we had a destination. Other times wed find ourselves out in the country or in Pullman, the nearest town. There were days wed be in the drive thru to McDonalds, only for the sake of ordering nine waters because if you ordered less than ten waters you got them all free. Wed be at a loss for things to do with them, so, just like everything else we had and didnt need, wed throw them out the window at the random bikers and pedestrians we saw by the sides of the road. Wed laugh and high five each other and then go back and do it again. People thought we were crazy, and rightly so.
I remember summer nights. Volleyball in the yard by the side of my house. We set up the net one hot Easter afternoon in April. Soon it became a ritual after church on Sunday nights to play the game after dark, only I couldnt hit a regular volleyball, so wed make special trips to Wal-Mart to buy an especially large beach ball. We would sometimes have twenty kids over, all laughing and making jokes about me and my hopelessly lost sense of direction. There was that one crazy time where I actually vanished into the shrubs as I attempted to hit the volleyball soaring overhead. Everyone thought it had swallowed me whole, but I emerged a few minutes later, with bush stubble in my hair and all over that sweatshirt of yours that I always borrowed. Mom would make a quick run to the store to provide snacks for everyone.
Watching every game begin and end, and watching every Sunday come and go with you and me was the Taurus, parked outside my house almost every day, ready to whisk us off to some exotic destination, like the arcade inside the Palouse Mall.
We found the swing one day, or rather, I remembered where it was from a biology trip to a creek during my freshman year. It was in an old abandoned park on a dead end road far from town where no one ever interrupted our escapades. We found Raleigh then too. Soon there were three where there had once been two. And surprisingly, no one knew the difference. So the three of us would venture out almost every day to the swing, making plots to kidnap mattresses from dumpsters on campus to break the fall of our constant crashing into the trees. We could never find a truck to haul them though, and handy as the Taurus was, the backseat wasnt quite spacious enough.
Times were hot and humid as summer crashed in around us. Windows were rolled down, sprinklers on, and grandparents would rock back and forth on front porches. I would illegally drive your car, and you would laugh nervously, telling me I should slow down. Raleigh would just laugh and play with the radio dials. We were the three musketeers, looking for adventure, mischief, and the American dream of escapism trying hard to overcome the realities of life. Realities like the fact that things can change all of a sudden, leaving nothing untouched.
I found another boy. You and Raleigh didnt approve much, not out of jealousy, just out of honesty. He occupied my time, wanting to be with me whenever we could be together. You would tell me that I was so caught up. Raleigh would say that I'd never been so wrapped into another person before. At the time those seemed like good things. But what did I know?
Every day for a month he came over, sometimes interrupting our evening traditions of watching Kung Pow and eating Ben and Jerrys ice cream. He was never happy to see you, always wanting time alone; always needing things to be his way. Still I didnt see it. You began to come by less. While that was still more than most people ever visit friends, we were used to more. We were used to almost living at my house, you talking to my mom like she was the mom you didnt have.
In the midst of me losing you, I lost my new fling as well. He stopped coming by. He stopped calling. All of a sudden my life contained a void of empty silence on those nights when you would usually be there talking with me or watching movies with me. When I looked outside my window, the silver gleam of the Taurus wouldnt shine back at me as often. But just when I realized you werent there, change was bearing down on me again.
I was moving. Mom was getting remarried again, and wouldnt have time to be a mom to everyone in the town anymore. And we were going to Seattle, over three hundred miles away. You commuting to have your evenings with us somehow seemed far fetched, although it was funny for awhile for us to talk about it. It was the three of us again for a few weeks, driving out to the swing. But the radio wasnt on anymore, and we didnt laugh as loud as we used to laugh when things looked brighter. The windows were still rolled down, but wed let the wind sting our eyes in silence, taking in the rolling hills of the landscape, imagining the way things would be soon.
One night, we were leaving my house to go to WinCo, ready to stalk up on energy drinks and junk food. Raleigh was in the lead going down my front steps, and all of a sudden he broke out into a run. You and I looked at each other as he went and stretched his body out on the pavement, face up, looking up at the sprinkle of stars in the sky. He spread his arms out above his head, and spread his legs wide, like that creepy drawing by Michelangelo or Da Vinci. You and I werent sure what to think until we heard a laugh escape his lips as he cried, 'Asphalt angel!'
It was just like a snow angel only there was no snow. Only asphalt.
Now things are different; mostly for me because Im not there anymore. Youre still at Theta Chi, my fraternity boy. Raleigh is still just as weird as when we met him, but thats why we liked him so much to begin with. We dont talk all that much anymore. I have my license now, and so does Raleigh; no longer the kids in need of a free ride. Things seem so adult-like now. In six months I'm eighteen, and you'll be twenty soon. We never wanted to let go; it was just something that had to be done. I came back and visited every now and then, and we'd climb back into the Taurus and drive out to the swing together in reverent silence for the good times that came in lives before. Conversation was attempted here and there, but we soon realized it wasnt worth it to try and describe the change the way it didnt feel the same anymore. Its a haunting numbness we can all relate to, but cant put into words.
Things change. People fade. Memories turn into shadows, and soon all we remember are the highlights the life changing moments. With us, though, it was the numerable meaningless days that made up our existence. The days wed drive around and have the deep conversations that shaped our actions, which, in turn, shaped our futures.
The Taurus isnt around anymore; it got totaled in a freak accident, which was only to be expected by the way you let people drive it around without even having insurance. But it carried cargo with it that cant be destroyed by one accident, or a hundred accidents. It carried an era of our lives. An era of laughter, tears, craziness, and our struggle to feel alive and okay; an era when life seemed so beautiful, complicated, and new. Time can take away many things. But I can still see the imprint of Raleighs asphalt angel on the pavement of my mind, and I know it wont just fade away. Some things, it seems, are here to stay.
There were times we had nowhere to go and nothing to do in fact that was most times. Days passed when nothing would be accomplished, no vivid memories would be formed, and no life-changing conversations took place. Wed simply drive around, you and me and the Taurus, drinking our almond steamers from that little coffee shop on the corner near Theta Chi. I remember you introducing me to steamers and cheap college coffee, telling me that Starbucks wasnt always the way to go especially when you have no income and youre living on ramen and macaroni and cheese.
My house became your house. My mom became your mom. The Taurus became our retreat some might say institution. My school got out at noon, so youd pick me up and wed drive home. I would change out of my hideous mock-Irish school uniform. Then wed just drive. Sometimes we had a destination. Other times wed find ourselves out in the country or in Pullman, the nearest town. There were days wed be in the drive thru to McDonalds, only for the sake of ordering nine waters because if you ordered less than ten waters you got them all free. Wed be at a loss for things to do with them, so, just like everything else we had and didnt need, wed throw them out the window at the random bikers and pedestrians we saw by the sides of the road. Wed laugh and high five each other and then go back and do it again. People thought we were crazy, and rightly so.
I remember summer nights. Volleyball in the yard by the side of my house. We set up the net one hot Easter afternoon in April. Soon it became a ritual after church on Sunday nights to play the game after dark, only I couldnt hit a regular volleyball, so wed make special trips to Wal-Mart to buy an especially large beach ball. We would sometimes have twenty kids over, all laughing and making jokes about me and my hopelessly lost sense of direction. There was that one crazy time where I actually vanished into the shrubs as I attempted to hit the volleyball soaring overhead. Everyone thought it had swallowed me whole, but I emerged a few minutes later, with bush stubble in my hair and all over that sweatshirt of yours that I always borrowed. Mom would make a quick run to the store to provide snacks for everyone.
Watching every game begin and end, and watching every Sunday come and go with you and me was the Taurus, parked outside my house almost every day, ready to whisk us off to some exotic destination, like the arcade inside the Palouse Mall.
We found the swing one day, or rather, I remembered where it was from a biology trip to a creek during my freshman year. It was in an old abandoned park on a dead end road far from town where no one ever interrupted our escapades. We found Raleigh then too. Soon there were three where there had once been two. And surprisingly, no one knew the difference. So the three of us would venture out almost every day to the swing, making plots to kidnap mattresses from dumpsters on campus to break the fall of our constant crashing into the trees. We could never find a truck to haul them though, and handy as the Taurus was, the backseat wasnt quite spacious enough.
Times were hot and humid as summer crashed in around us. Windows were rolled down, sprinklers on, and grandparents would rock back and forth on front porches. I would illegally drive your car, and you would laugh nervously, telling me I should slow down. Raleigh would just laugh and play with the radio dials. We were the three musketeers, looking for adventure, mischief, and the American dream of escapism trying hard to overcome the realities of life. Realities like the fact that things can change all of a sudden, leaving nothing untouched.
I found another boy. You and Raleigh didnt approve much, not out of jealousy, just out of honesty. He occupied my time, wanting to be with me whenever we could be together. You would tell me that I was so caught up. Raleigh would say that I'd never been so wrapped into another person before. At the time those seemed like good things. But what did I know?
Every day for a month he came over, sometimes interrupting our evening traditions of watching Kung Pow and eating Ben and Jerrys ice cream. He was never happy to see you, always wanting time alone; always needing things to be his way. Still I didnt see it. You began to come by less. While that was still more than most people ever visit friends, we were used to more. We were used to almost living at my house, you talking to my mom like she was the mom you didnt have.
In the midst of me losing you, I lost my new fling as well. He stopped coming by. He stopped calling. All of a sudden my life contained a void of empty silence on those nights when you would usually be there talking with me or watching movies with me. When I looked outside my window, the silver gleam of the Taurus wouldnt shine back at me as often. But just when I realized you werent there, change was bearing down on me again.
I was moving. Mom was getting remarried again, and wouldnt have time to be a mom to everyone in the town anymore. And we were going to Seattle, over three hundred miles away. You commuting to have your evenings with us somehow seemed far fetched, although it was funny for awhile for us to talk about it. It was the three of us again for a few weeks, driving out to the swing. But the radio wasnt on anymore, and we didnt laugh as loud as we used to laugh when things looked brighter. The windows were still rolled down, but wed let the wind sting our eyes in silence, taking in the rolling hills of the landscape, imagining the way things would be soon.
One night, we were leaving my house to go to WinCo, ready to stalk up on energy drinks and junk food. Raleigh was in the lead going down my front steps, and all of a sudden he broke out into a run. You and I looked at each other as he went and stretched his body out on the pavement, face up, looking up at the sprinkle of stars in the sky. He spread his arms out above his head, and spread his legs wide, like that creepy drawing by Michelangelo or Da Vinci. You and I werent sure what to think until we heard a laugh escape his lips as he cried, 'Asphalt angel!'
It was just like a snow angel only there was no snow. Only asphalt.
Now things are different; mostly for me because Im not there anymore. Youre still at Theta Chi, my fraternity boy. Raleigh is still just as weird as when we met him, but thats why we liked him so much to begin with. We dont talk all that much anymore. I have my license now, and so does Raleigh; no longer the kids in need of a free ride. Things seem so adult-like now. In six months I'm eighteen, and you'll be twenty soon. We never wanted to let go; it was just something that had to be done. I came back and visited every now and then, and we'd climb back into the Taurus and drive out to the swing together in reverent silence for the good times that came in lives before. Conversation was attempted here and there, but we soon realized it wasnt worth it to try and describe the change the way it didnt feel the same anymore. Its a haunting numbness we can all relate to, but cant put into words.
Things change. People fade. Memories turn into shadows, and soon all we remember are the highlights the life changing moments. With us, though, it was the numerable meaningless days that made up our existence. The days wed drive around and have the deep conversations that shaped our actions, which, in turn, shaped our futures.
The Taurus isnt around anymore; it got totaled in a freak accident, which was only to be expected by the way you let people drive it around without even having insurance. But it carried cargo with it that cant be destroyed by one accident, or a hundred accidents. It carried an era of our lives. An era of laughter, tears, craziness, and our struggle to feel alive and okay; an era when life seemed so beautiful, complicated, and new. Time can take away many things. But I can still see the imprint of Raleighs asphalt angel on the pavement of my mind, and I know it wont just fade away. Some things, it seems, are here to stay.
the definition of me
April 4, 2006
There are few things comparable to flying into SeaTac Airport when the sun is setting over the Olympics and the Space Needle is shining back at you, and the ferries are making their runs across the Sound to Bremerton and you see them coming and going, and the outline of Mt. Rainier looms like a giant welcome banner in the distance... the San Juan islands cut the Sound into jagged patterns that separate Seattle from the ocean.
No, it isn't California. Or Arizona. The sun definitely isn't here all year round, and there aren't any waves to catch for miles. There aren't any beautiful palm trees, and it hasn't been 80 degrees since early fall.
But flying in last night, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
There just aren't many places like it. You can catch waves many places. You can have sand many places. And palm trees too. My favorite things about places elsewhere. But where can you see a giant metropolitan area tucked between two mountain ranges with green as far as the eye can see?
Where cultures collide and wilderness meets the modern?.... I just appreciated the familiarity I suppose after a whirlwind month that was good, but hard to fit into sometimes.
I feel like I'm kind of in that phase where I'm testing my wings out and I'm not quite sure where I want to go with them yet... I know they'll take me places. I'm just trying to make my beliefs and my life and my faith my own and trying to figure out how I fit into everything else... I know I'm gifted when it comes to music. I know that I'm blessed. I know that I want to see the world. I want to meet the little girl I sponsor in El Salvador, and the boy I sponsor in Peru, and the boy Usengimana that I write to in Rwanda...
I want to see how people live in worlds different than mine. I want to play guitar in Argentina while sipping mate and studying for classes... I want to teach English as a second language. I want to backpack from Spain to Greece and spend three months doing it. I want to change things.
It all started at the top of one of the Alps.
We had been touring together for two months, traveling across 20 states and 3 provinces, singing a concert every night to get us to where we were... and we found ourselves on top of Santis... one of the Swiss Alps that marks the beginning of the giant chain of mountains. I stood precariously on top of a rock that marked the highest point I could reach. I stood up, and I spread my arms out wide (like the picture of Brittany and I that made it onto a Jones Soda bottle). On one side of the world, there was a plateau of villages, and to the other there was a sea of mountaintops... each one seeming to hold its own secrets.
I was talking to a friend the other night about what defines our lives... if you could pick one moment that would define who you were and what you stood for... one moment that would set your life apart... what would it be?
For me, that was it. The world was at my feet. And I do mean that literally.
There's more to life than a GPA and a good job, and making money. Those are good things, and I want them. But I want things that are more important. I want to go back to Venice and walk across the Rialto Bridge again and listen to a man from Hungary play Spanish music on his guitar (yes I did that). I want to learn languages. Learn people. Learn how they live, how they breathe, what they value, who they want to be. I want to let a little girl in El Salvador know that someone thousands of miles away loves her enough to pay for her school, and food, and clean water, and vaccinations, and to write her letters.
All this does tie together, I promise.
Arizona helped me a lot. It helped me find out who I want to be. I don't have to be the person everyone else wants. I don't have to make a grade or worry about disappointing anybody. I just have to be myself, and make myself well-rounded and aware and educated. I just have to love more. Live more. Laugh more. Flying into Seattle last night, I realized that this is home to me now. But I'm still going places. I'm going back to Spain to dance in the Mediterranean with kids from Valencia again. I'm going back to Switzerland to see the market at Andelfingen and the way the sun sets over the Alps.
And as much as the Northwest is gorgeous and beautiful, and like no place on earth... I'm going to see the rest of the world. And I'm going to change it.
There are few things comparable to flying into SeaTac Airport when the sun is setting over the Olympics and the Space Needle is shining back at you, and the ferries are making their runs across the Sound to Bremerton and you see them coming and going, and the outline of Mt. Rainier looms like a giant welcome banner in the distance... the San Juan islands cut the Sound into jagged patterns that separate Seattle from the ocean.
No, it isn't California. Or Arizona. The sun definitely isn't here all year round, and there aren't any waves to catch for miles. There aren't any beautiful palm trees, and it hasn't been 80 degrees since early fall.
But flying in last night, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
There just aren't many places like it. You can catch waves many places. You can have sand many places. And palm trees too. My favorite things about places elsewhere. But where can you see a giant metropolitan area tucked between two mountain ranges with green as far as the eye can see?
Where cultures collide and wilderness meets the modern?.... I just appreciated the familiarity I suppose after a whirlwind month that was good, but hard to fit into sometimes.
I feel like I'm kind of in that phase where I'm testing my wings out and I'm not quite sure where I want to go with them yet... I know they'll take me places. I'm just trying to make my beliefs and my life and my faith my own and trying to figure out how I fit into everything else... I know I'm gifted when it comes to music. I know that I'm blessed. I know that I want to see the world. I want to meet the little girl I sponsor in El Salvador, and the boy I sponsor in Peru, and the boy Usengimana that I write to in Rwanda...
I want to see how people live in worlds different than mine. I want to play guitar in Argentina while sipping mate and studying for classes... I want to teach English as a second language. I want to backpack from Spain to Greece and spend three months doing it. I want to change things.
It all started at the top of one of the Alps.
We had been touring together for two months, traveling across 20 states and 3 provinces, singing a concert every night to get us to where we were... and we found ourselves on top of Santis... one of the Swiss Alps that marks the beginning of the giant chain of mountains. I stood precariously on top of a rock that marked the highest point I could reach. I stood up, and I spread my arms out wide (like the picture of Brittany and I that made it onto a Jones Soda bottle). On one side of the world, there was a plateau of villages, and to the other there was a sea of mountaintops... each one seeming to hold its own secrets.
I was talking to a friend the other night about what defines our lives... if you could pick one moment that would define who you were and what you stood for... one moment that would set your life apart... what would it be?
For me, that was it. The world was at my feet. And I do mean that literally.
There's more to life than a GPA and a good job, and making money. Those are good things, and I want them. But I want things that are more important. I want to go back to Venice and walk across the Rialto Bridge again and listen to a man from Hungary play Spanish music on his guitar (yes I did that). I want to learn languages. Learn people. Learn how they live, how they breathe, what they value, who they want to be. I want to let a little girl in El Salvador know that someone thousands of miles away loves her enough to pay for her school, and food, and clean water, and vaccinations, and to write her letters.
All this does tie together, I promise.
Arizona helped me a lot. It helped me find out who I want to be. I don't have to be the person everyone else wants. I don't have to make a grade or worry about disappointing anybody. I just have to be myself, and make myself well-rounded and aware and educated. I just have to love more. Live more. Laugh more. Flying into Seattle last night, I realized that this is home to me now. But I'm still going places. I'm going back to Spain to dance in the Mediterranean with kids from Valencia again. I'm going back to Switzerland to see the market at Andelfingen and the way the sun sets over the Alps.
And as much as the Northwest is gorgeous and beautiful, and like no place on earth... I'm going to see the rest of the world. And I'm going to change it.
truthful lies
Feb. 5, 2006
Can't sleep tonight.
I tossed and turned for a good forty-five minutes before deciding that something inside me just needs to get some venting out. So here it goes. You will either agree or disagree very strongly, but I am unapologetic, regardless. Not out of arrogance, but out of steadfast faith in what I place my beliefs in. (this does not take away my interest in your comments and opinions however, whether they are the same as mine or different)
I am sick of the crap this world feeds us. I was deeply disturbed by my class yesterday, Multicultural Communications. I just can't shake it from my mind. So many things were flippantly said, and so many people are so closed minded, while declaring their 'open mindedness.' Bull.
Just like Republicans can give conservatives like me a bad name by being thoughtless and blurting out random comments, Democrats in my class are slowly eating away at me.. not because of their beliefs, or the fact that those beliefs differ from mine, but because of the way they present those beliefs. In my class right now we're talking about current events, and about what's going on in the media, and I am usually the only one to speak up, mostly because I'm one of the few who pays attention to news and media and such.
"Well there's the NSA scandal.. if you can call it that." I stated, and as I was getting ready to add some truth to the situation, my teacher (who gets riled up about just about anything) startes flailing her arms and announcing to the class, "Yes, have we heard about what this dictatorship - oh, I mean our Presidential Administration - has decided lately? That it's okay now to go against our constitution and invade peoples' privacy? To tap lines without warrants to do so?"
Stupidity at its finest is being shown in the people that our taxes pay to educate our youth.
First of all, just because the president isn't on your half of the political spectrum, if you will, doesn't mean he's a dictator. Just because we don't have time to issue an entire flipping election to decide one thing doesn't mean that Bush is trying to control our lives. Think we're a dictatorship?
Why don't you whine to people in North Korea, whose government refuses to feed them and give them the aid that countries, like ourselves, send them by the millions. The food we send them gets sold to merchants on the black market so that the rich people can buy them,and the poor stay hungry. Tell that to their starving children who won't ever get to see past the age of 11 because their parents were beaten to death for disagreeing with their government. Or better yet, whine to people in Communist China who are being thrown in jail by the thousands for believing in anything other than their state religion... which ironically, is actually a branch of anti-religion... it isn't just Christians getting thrown in jail, it's anyone who has any faith in anything but their government at all. As soon as you want to whine about American being a dictatorship, you automatically assume the position of the self-serving, self-concerned, self-seeking nation that the world perceives us to be. Way to go ace.
And another thing... NSA scandal? What scandal? Do warantless wiretaps violate our constitution? Yes... so does killing people. Does that mean we won't ever go to war to defend our country? No. (this is not a reference to the war in Iraq... my opinion is undecided... merely an example) When you think about it, wartime procedures, especially after 9/11, call for desperate measures. If my neighbor is planning to bomb my neighborhood, I would rather the government listen in on my conversation (since I'm innocent anyway) and save my family, then have them succeed when my government could have intervened. It's a means of protection, not of violation. No one in the White House sat around thinking, 'Gee, what can we do to piss off our citizens today? That's it!! I think we should invade their privacy!' While I admit whole heartedly that I can see the other side of the argument completely - the violation of our rights, and the denial by Bush that this was even occuring - if you look at the facts, the situation isn't as 'scandalous' as it might first appear.
Off my soapbox.
To be honest, I don't have a problem with liberals. In fact, most of my friends are liberals, and I love them dearly. To be honest again, I don't vote a straight ticket - whoever does the best job wins my vote. Opinions can differ, and debates can be productive. When I debate with my friends, we gain a stronger friendship, as well as stronger roots in what we believe in. No, liberals are not the problem. That is not what this is about. This is about me feeling unfairly discriminated against in a class that is meant to educate us on discrimination.
I feel offended and uncomfortable when my teacher says things like, "This is what those righty's are doing in the Supreme Court now"... or "Well, the conservatives think that this is not okay..." It's like, lady, I love you and know you have good intentions, but treat us all like equals, regardless of what side you're on. If it were a Republican up there, I would expect the same from them. Don't diss on Bush... I voted for him... and I am not ashamed to say it. If you want to prove your side of the story (which trust me, isn't really that hard since the guy has, like all of us, made his fair share of mistakes) then just tell us the facts.
Facts. Not opinions.
If they are opinions, then let everyone voice them freely. No, I don't agree with homosexuality. Do I hate them? Am I a gay-hating person? No. Do I think they are less than human? Of course not. Do I think that me disagreeing with their lifestyle justifies discriminatory behavior against them? Absolutely not. Should the government decide for them if their marriage is legitimate? Probably not. So don't get up there and tell me that because I don't agree with something that I am 'closed minded' or 'backward' or 'a little too far right.' I have friends that are gay, and I love them. They're people for goodness sake. They have lives, just like everyone else... they snowboard, or play music, or are doctors... they live life. If this is a class based on my ability to communicate with them, then why are you trying to change my views, if I communicate just fine?
I want to learn. I want to have friends from all religions, races, orientations, and genders. I want to visit other cultures and see how people live. I want to make a difference, no matter how small it seems. I want to debate, and to form opinions of my own, and to see life from a perspective that is completely mine. All of the events in my class that have offended me aren't listed here... those are a few, but definitely not all of them. I'm not just freaking out about an isolated incident.
I want to be real. Not some person who takes in everything they hear as truth... not everything is as it seems. I want to question things legitimately before admitting their truth... I want to make sure that I don't fall into the role of the mindless consumer who believes everything they hear. I want to be educated. If anything, I'm discovering that an education - even while presented from a differing point of view - is so valuable. It teaches you to overcome obstacles, to think for yourself, and to be more than just a bump on a log.
I'm excited for this journey of mine. To see where God takes me in life, and the adventures that I will have. To have faith in someone bigger than myself. To change things for the better.
I hope I can. Somehow.
Can't sleep tonight.
I tossed and turned for a good forty-five minutes before deciding that something inside me just needs to get some venting out. So here it goes. You will either agree or disagree very strongly, but I am unapologetic, regardless. Not out of arrogance, but out of steadfast faith in what I place my beliefs in. (this does not take away my interest in your comments and opinions however, whether they are the same as mine or different)
I am sick of the crap this world feeds us. I was deeply disturbed by my class yesterday, Multicultural Communications. I just can't shake it from my mind. So many things were flippantly said, and so many people are so closed minded, while declaring their 'open mindedness.' Bull.
Just like Republicans can give conservatives like me a bad name by being thoughtless and blurting out random comments, Democrats in my class are slowly eating away at me.. not because of their beliefs, or the fact that those beliefs differ from mine, but because of the way they present those beliefs. In my class right now we're talking about current events, and about what's going on in the media, and I am usually the only one to speak up, mostly because I'm one of the few who pays attention to news and media and such.
"Well there's the NSA scandal.. if you can call it that." I stated, and as I was getting ready to add some truth to the situation, my teacher (who gets riled up about just about anything) startes flailing her arms and announcing to the class, "Yes, have we heard about what this dictatorship - oh, I mean our Presidential Administration - has decided lately? That it's okay now to go against our constitution and invade peoples' privacy? To tap lines without warrants to do so?"
Stupidity at its finest is being shown in the people that our taxes pay to educate our youth.
First of all, just because the president isn't on your half of the political spectrum, if you will, doesn't mean he's a dictator. Just because we don't have time to issue an entire flipping election to decide one thing doesn't mean that Bush is trying to control our lives. Think we're a dictatorship?
Why don't you whine to people in North Korea, whose government refuses to feed them and give them the aid that countries, like ourselves, send them by the millions. The food we send them gets sold to merchants on the black market so that the rich people can buy them,and the poor stay hungry. Tell that to their starving children who won't ever get to see past the age of 11 because their parents were beaten to death for disagreeing with their government. Or better yet, whine to people in Communist China who are being thrown in jail by the thousands for believing in anything other than their state religion... which ironically, is actually a branch of anti-religion... it isn't just Christians getting thrown in jail, it's anyone who has any faith in anything but their government at all. As soon as you want to whine about American being a dictatorship, you automatically assume the position of the self-serving, self-concerned, self-seeking nation that the world perceives us to be. Way to go ace.
And another thing... NSA scandal? What scandal? Do warantless wiretaps violate our constitution? Yes... so does killing people. Does that mean we won't ever go to war to defend our country? No. (this is not a reference to the war in Iraq... my opinion is undecided... merely an example) When you think about it, wartime procedures, especially after 9/11, call for desperate measures. If my neighbor is planning to bomb my neighborhood, I would rather the government listen in on my conversation (since I'm innocent anyway) and save my family, then have them succeed when my government could have intervened. It's a means of protection, not of violation. No one in the White House sat around thinking, 'Gee, what can we do to piss off our citizens today? That's it!! I think we should invade their privacy!' While I admit whole heartedly that I can see the other side of the argument completely - the violation of our rights, and the denial by Bush that this was even occuring - if you look at the facts, the situation isn't as 'scandalous' as it might first appear.
Off my soapbox.
To be honest, I don't have a problem with liberals. In fact, most of my friends are liberals, and I love them dearly. To be honest again, I don't vote a straight ticket - whoever does the best job wins my vote. Opinions can differ, and debates can be productive. When I debate with my friends, we gain a stronger friendship, as well as stronger roots in what we believe in. No, liberals are not the problem. That is not what this is about. This is about me feeling unfairly discriminated against in a class that is meant to educate us on discrimination.
I feel offended and uncomfortable when my teacher says things like, "This is what those righty's are doing in the Supreme Court now"... or "Well, the conservatives think that this is not okay..." It's like, lady, I love you and know you have good intentions, but treat us all like equals, regardless of what side you're on. If it were a Republican up there, I would expect the same from them. Don't diss on Bush... I voted for him... and I am not ashamed to say it. If you want to prove your side of the story (which trust me, isn't really that hard since the guy has, like all of us, made his fair share of mistakes) then just tell us the facts.
Facts. Not opinions.
If they are opinions, then let everyone voice them freely. No, I don't agree with homosexuality. Do I hate them? Am I a gay-hating person? No. Do I think they are less than human? Of course not. Do I think that me disagreeing with their lifestyle justifies discriminatory behavior against them? Absolutely not. Should the government decide for them if their marriage is legitimate? Probably not. So don't get up there and tell me that because I don't agree with something that I am 'closed minded' or 'backward' or 'a little too far right.' I have friends that are gay, and I love them. They're people for goodness sake. They have lives, just like everyone else... they snowboard, or play music, or are doctors... they live life. If this is a class based on my ability to communicate with them, then why are you trying to change my views, if I communicate just fine?
I want to learn. I want to have friends from all religions, races, orientations, and genders. I want to visit other cultures and see how people live. I want to make a difference, no matter how small it seems. I want to debate, and to form opinions of my own, and to see life from a perspective that is completely mine. All of the events in my class that have offended me aren't listed here... those are a few, but definitely not all of them. I'm not just freaking out about an isolated incident.
I want to be real. Not some person who takes in everything they hear as truth... not everything is as it seems. I want to question things legitimately before admitting their truth... I want to make sure that I don't fall into the role of the mindless consumer who believes everything they hear. I want to be educated. If anything, I'm discovering that an education - even while presented from a differing point of view - is so valuable. It teaches you to overcome obstacles, to think for yourself, and to be more than just a bump on a log.
I'm excited for this journey of mine. To see where God takes me in life, and the adventures that I will have. To have faith in someone bigger than myself. To change things for the better.
I hope I can. Somehow.
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