Poetry and the Past

I spent some time today shuffling through a box of my past. Never fear invisible audience, I'm not beginning with an endlessly cliché metaphor, I was literally looking through a literal box of old junk. My Junk. Strange newspaper clippings, old id cards, floppy disks with painfully cheesy poetry, stories I wrote in the second grade and a smattering of ribbons from random competitions throughout elementary school, i.e. science fair and a few swim races.

What is my thought regarding the useless piles I’ve managed to retain through the years?

The more I dispose of things; the more sifting through and only keeping "the important" unsettles me. I know that I could throw it all away and much of it would slip through my memory's sieve--gone forever. I know that I create my reality by doing this same thing, endlessly recreating and reforming my past. So if this is what I already do in my mind daily-an innate action made possible through the trickery of eternally subjective and changing perception, perspective and world view...well, why should I mind if I do it more consciously as well? I realized today that I would never remember some events, situations, or people if I did not routinely practice this ritual of sorting through tangible representations of my life and the many selves I have been.

This brings to a conclusion; I am attached to the belief that I can and should try to hold on to these pieces because it is a virtue to remain mindful of who one has been. If anything, I suppose it is valuable to retain one's memory-no matter how imperfect-because you inevitably begin to find one of the few clear truths in life emerges: the only constant is change. Oh, and it's fun to laugh at your terrible (and creepy) stalker poetry from Jr. High too.

A randomly selected tidbit:

"Together"
I wish I could describe in words what you mean to me
The awkward stares and silences mean worlds to me you see
I love the way you look when embarrassment fills your mind
And when we touch each other accidently, I wish I could stop time
I wish I could, always be around you all the time
Yet I know that can never be
Because there is a price to pay you see
You simply don't feel the same way about me


Heavy, I know. Just be thankful I didn't share "obsessed" or several particularly bewitching untitled pieces.
Until another time.

Perhaps...

If I write here, even when I have no time to commit to a deeply thought-out commentary on my life or the world at large, perhaps I will get into the habit. I would truly like to make this happen, therefore I write.

Today, in a repeat of many of the days I've spent on this earth, I filled my time mindlessly by tearing apart my room and attempting to put myself back together again. My life-sized 11x 12 puzzle.

I am continually convincing myself that I could dispose of more of my useless meaningless shit if i just tried harder. This results in hours of pouring over my collections of receipts, used up candles, scraps of fabric and broken electronics. I'm sure that if I just spent my time more diligently I would melt down those candles and create new ones out of their remains, rewire the electronics or create inspiring sculptures out of their remains, make neat bags and items out of fabric and fergodsake catalogue those receipts so i knew where my money went.

Alas, I'm not if I came out on top this time, but there is some good news. I am quite proud that I managed to get rid of a few things (i gave in to keeping the candles again...i swear, I'll make it happen!) and made space for a meditation corner. Yes, that's right, I have finally given in to the nagging idea that meditation will help me rein in some of my lovely emotional and psychological inadequacies by creating a place to center myself each morning and evening. Granted, I will probably start with 5 minutes at a time, but who knows what is possible once you get going. When I get library books on a topic you know I'm serious, and I came home several days ago with 4 books on meditation and "centering" oneself. I'm vastly pleased with myself and look forward to seeing what could possibly come from all this newfound discipline.

p.s.
this book looks pretty damn interesting... Nowtopia

new update.

scratch everything i've ever said.

A new start (again)

Here I am.

I'm finally developing the belief that I might have something to say that doesn't have something to do with an adventure. Something unusual and out of the ordinary. Perhaps I have things to say about everyday, questions, curiosities,concerns.

It's been quite a few months since i've written here. it's possible that no one will read it, but i think i'm ok with that scenario, as well as all the other possibilitie. frankly if I'm learning to write for writing's sake, I don't think it should matter to me if i have an audience or not--that always inevitably complicates things.

And so here we are again. In the midst of another job search, now coupled with a house search. The joys of the mid-twenties!!

signing out, A

Culture Shock Doesn't Make Friends OR Craigslist, Placebo for the Jobless

Ok, ok,
Well, I am no longer in Bolivia. Perhaps this would signal to some people that my blog should be over, but let's face it, I've been pouring my heart out onto this silly page since last April, why ever should I stop now? Upland, CA and the struggles of reentering life in suburban Southern California is every bit as trying and ridiculous as living in another culture for months on end...ok well, almost.It makes people a different kind of weird and stressed out. I know, just try walking into a Taco Bell full of youth group kids after being out of the country 4 months and see what kind of person it makes you. exactly.
To be fair, it was wrong of me to dream of Cheesy Gordita Crunches for months on end, not only in Bolivia but for the entire year before when I was a vegan. Sometimes we do cruel cruel things to ourselves under the guise of justice.

So what, other than punishing myself cruelly with trips to fast food restaurants, have I been doing since I've returned?
Well, nothing to be exact. That's the beauty and punishment of it all. While working half-assed on the papers I should turn in days from now in order to graduate, I've been attempting to get back into the groove of it all. You know, re-meet my family and friends, eat some deliciously familiar and familiarly delicious foods like Thai and Indian...and well...I may or may not have dreamed about spicy brown mustard when I was in Cochabamba. I'm also trying to figure out what the crap a woman is supposed to do when she discovers she's graduating from college. I'm looking around for available housing and job opportunities...but really don't know what to look for, or expect to find. Here is a sample of the regulars I encounter...

1. Administrative assistant with 2 years experience,
2. Entry level tele-marketer,
3. Intense Director position for unknown non-profit for random thing you've never heard of,and
4. Managerial position for large corporate america company.

I want to know how people find jobs when this is all I see offered!
I know I'm going to get myself in trouble if I try to find the ideal job the first time around, and knowing so reminds me of the lesson I learned while waiting for public transportation in Bolivia.

The correct answer every time was...

GET ON THE FIRST BUS YOU SEE GOING IN THE GENERAL DIRECTION YOU'RE AIMING FOR OR YOU WILL NEVER GET ANYWHERE.

What can I say? Perfection isn't in the cards for everyone...or is that anyone?

So moral of the story is that Moms right when she says, "any step at all, is a step in the right direction." Perhaps she is giving me the healthy push that means...Home is nice for a while, but you're a big girl now.

Well there's probably more to life than Craigslist...but who doesn't want to pull the convenience card? I'll keep checking back each day for jobs 'til I realize i need to move out for real.

fond farewell

Yes, the incredible and impossible has occured. Photos have surfaced from our trip to the Salar, and so i have decided to take a moment to share the joys of our experience with you, dedicated reader.


While we didnt have an incredible amount of time before the soon-to-be-wounded stephanie took that fated jump, we managed to take advantage of our time with the salar.


yes, we did sleep in here.

My time in Bolivia has almost expired..i will be home before i know it.
While i've gone through every possible course of emotional response to this fact, i feel i've finally come to peace with it...i knew i was not going to be here forever, this was not planned as a long term trip, there is no way i could stay longer, a month more would not aleave the stress when i left.
In possession of this knowledge still, i'm sad, and appropriately so, because this city is one that has crept into my heart and my memory. i love it, i love cochabamaba and its smells and its sights. I've become attached to the particular graffiti on my street and how i can walk to any corner and buy a momento candy bar or a bag of water to tear open with my teeth as i walk through the outdoor market. i love how i can walk anywhere within downtown and that i recognize people, heck... some people even recognize me. i have participated in the life experiences of an incredibly diverse collection of families and individuals in this city...and i know that i've only even just begun to scratch the surface.
What justice can one do a continent, country, region, city, even street block in the course of 4 months? How well can i know its history and people, communication and social cues? i cannot pretend to know the first thing about this place that i have been living for so short a time.I've had but a taste but you know what?
It was good. It was really really good.

Life on San Martin casi Colombia

Just a moment to share a second in the lives of Amy and Heather Rose, residents of 179 San Martin