Poetry Thursday

Forgetfulness
By Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Wondering And Wandering In Make-Believe

Nights like this make me wonder. Not for any significant reason. Not because something interesting or extraordinary happened today. There’s just something about the rustle of the leaves as the night winds move in beneath the overcast sky. There’s something about the way there’s no sound except for that. There’s something about the way it felt to swim alone in the silence while the fireflies swam together through the darkened outlines of the trees. There’s something about tonight that makes me wonder.

I’m house-sitting this week in a quiet suburban neighborhood. It’s lovely to have a house all to myself, and to have it be in a place that allows me to feel like I have the whole world all to myself. It’s wonderful to sit out on the back deck and hear and see nothing but the dogs pattering about inside. It’s so fun to play make believe this way.

I feel so grown up being here, but in that pretend way, in the way it felt as a little girl to put on my mother’s make-up and prance about the house in her high-heeled shoes. It’s the way we used to play house by the old chestnut tree during recess at school. It’s the way I would make feasts out of sand and sticks, and babies out of dolls, and adults out of all of my friends. It’s that kind of make believe, that kind of magic.

And I wonder if that has ever stopped, or if it will ever stop. I wonder when reality sinks in. Slowly I feel it creeping it’s way into my life as I get consumed by the responsibilities of the every day, and yet, here I am, playing house. Here I am still dreaming of being the mommy, of having tucked my children in for the night, and snuck outside for a little “me” time. Maybe I’m catching up on some report due in the office tomorrow, or perhaps I’m working on the novel in progress, or maybe I’m just writing away knowing that my children will grow all too quickly and I have to cherish every moment that I can.

Because already I’m twenty-one years old, and I know how rapidly that time passes by. Yesterday, stopped at a red light, I noticed a boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve walking his dog. In shorts and a T-shirt he strutted down the street as though he knew everything there is to be known. I thought about how that was once us, how certain we were, how much we had yet to understand. It’s unfair to say that life was simpler then, because life is never simple in the moment, but in retrospect, it almost always seems sublime. I find myself longing for that version of myself, that version of me, that little girl who knew everything there was to be known.

The children in my life that once brought me so much happiness have become a representation of the childhood gone from me. The joy they bring is now intertwined with a kind of saddened longing. I want to hold each of them close and tell them to cherish it, although I know they’ll never understand until it’s fading, as though my holding them would somehow hold time for both of us. I find myself clinging to my innocence with a kind of desperation I never knew I had.

And yet, still I get lost in these dreams of the future. Still, I find myself playing pretend, walking around in grown up clothes, worrying about work and money, living in my own home with two dogs to look after. Still I find myself watching the fireflies twinkle in the black abyss like fairies in some enchanted forest. Still I carry with me that little girl I used to be, and still am, and will always be. Still I wonder what the future holds.

And I wonder when it will stop, or if it will ever stop. And I hope, with all my heart, that I will never be finished playing make believe.

Happy Father's Day

Happy father’s day.

I saw my father on Friday for the first time in 5 months. He got remarried while I was in India. He told me in an email, a casual email updating me on the facts. He was married, and her son, my new stepbrother, was in the hospital after a terrible car crash. He died a few days later.

Having not spoken to my father in months, I didn’t know how to respond to such a thing. I didn’t know how to deal with such mixed emotions from the other side of the world. And so, I didn’t. I did nothing. I cried and wrote frantically in my journal and sought comfort in the new friends I had made, but really, I just buried all of the pain that email caused me beneath the shadows of my newfound bliss.

But it stayed here waiting for me to return. All of the anger and sadness I felt sat on my doorstep, waiting to be claimed and dealt with. I am trying to deal with it. I am trying.

I called my father and we made plans for dinner. We said nothing of the 5 months of silence that past between us. We said nothing of the marriage or the death. We said nothing of any real substance.

Not that I necessarily expected us to. I think I’ve reached the point where I can accept the fact that we’ll never have a relationship based on anything real. Still, it hurts to think that I’ve been forced to settle. It hurts to think that I probably will never have the relationship I’d like to have with him. It hurts to think that he’ll always be a part of my life, but a much smaller part than I want or need. It hurts to be my father’s daughter.

On the other hand, I’m a different person now than I was when I first realized how angry I was with him. I know who I am, and if he doesn’t like that person, it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything. Not having him approve of me doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve love. It’s taken me a very long time to understand that.

And now that I do understand that, I’m okay. I’m able to talk to him, see him, have dinner with him once and a while. I’m able to let him be the small part of my life that he can be. I’m taking what I can get.

We had a nice dinner, the three of us, awkwardly dancing around any subjects that would spark discomfort. It of course, wasn’t all I would like from a dinner with my father and new stepmother, but it was a start. Maybe a type of ending as well, a peak of comfortable settling where we’ll all remain. Still, I’ll take what I can get.

Still, it was enough to allow me to call today and say happy father’s day.

Happy father’s day.

Mangoes

I had a craving for mangoes. I went to the store and bought two, one for today, one for tomorrow. I took out a knife and sliced into the first.

And suddenly, I was on the beach in Goa, sitting beside my friend Claire on the beautiful turquoise tapestry I had just bought (after haggling it down to half price), watching the fruit man slice the entire mango with a huge knife in four chops. Twice a day he’d walk by our hut, the sound of his voice wafting on the soft Indian breeze, “Pineapple, coconut, mango, banana!” I adored it. His yells became the soundtrack of our time there.

I stood at my kitchen counter this morning, thinking of him. I smiled, and then, for the first time since I’ve been home, was overcome with the desperation of the world’s injustice. How utterly blessed I am. Of course I felt that in India, but at the same time, I didn’t. I didn’t really think about people like him who spent their days walking on a gorgeous beach in India selling fruit. Surely there were worse ways to live. I had been living among so many less fortunate than him.

But as I stood in my kitchen this morning, I thought about where he is now. The tourist season is over. The monsoons have arrived. He’s no longer walking on the beach, chanting off a list of fruits, the only English he knows. He’s most likely left the south, returned to the desert where his family waits all season for him. He’s taken his meager earnings from the fruit he sold and buys what he can for them – food, water, little else.

And here I am, in my very own kitchen, in a thriving city, cutting mangoes that were as easy to obtain as one could imagine. And I cried into the depths of the ripe, yellow fruit. And I thought, how unfair that I should stand here longing in every moment to be there. How unfair that I should look upon their poverty as a paradise. How unfair that I am here simply because I was born to the right people, in the right place, at the right time.

Because no matter what anyone tries to argue about the self-inducement of poverty and inequality, the truth is, it generally just comes down to pure luck. I am so lucky. Why should I be? This question has been running through my mind since I arrived in India over three months ago, and probably long before that. Why me? Why us?

I wonder who I would be if I had been born impoverished. I wonder if I would know of the other realities that could have existed for me had things been different. I wonder if I would sit and wonder in the same way.

Sometimes I’d just sit and watch people in the streets, trying to guess what they were thinking, questioning whether they dreamed of things the same way I do. Did they want to escape their lives? Or is dreaming of escape a luxury only people who are well off can afford?

I think about how painful that is for me, to long for a life I’m not living, but I have the possibility of living it someday. I have the potential to live the life I want. I have the freedom to dream. Why me? I’ve worked so little in life. I’ve faced such minor adversity, no matter how relative we all claim it to be. I’ve taken so very much for granted.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I have this and they have nothing. It’s not fair that they are potentially content with their lives and I complain about everything. It’s not fair that I can’t save the world, despite every effort I may make. I’m only human. But we’re all only human, and doesn’t that make us family? Doesn’t that mean we should do everything in our power to help and protect one another? Doesn’t that mean we’re all one?

But we’re not, because we live in this world that divides us. Because we live in a world more concerned with money and color and arbitrary categorization than humanity itself. Because the fruit man is in the desert with more mouths to feed, more bodies to clothe, more cries to ease, than he is capable of. And because I am here, in my kitchen, in a cutely assembled outfit paired with new shoes, eating a tear soaked mango.

Poetry Thursday

I'm sorry for not updating more. I do, as usual, have so many things I'd like to write about, but haven't quite managed to get back into the routine of daily blogging. I'm getting there. I promise. For now, here's a poem for Poetry Thursday, which seems to encompass all that I'm feeling.

Wandering In The Cage
By Charles Bukowski

languid conjecture during hours of moil, trapped in the shadows
of the father
sidewalks outside of cafes are lonely
through the day.

my cat looks at me and is not sure what I am and
I look back and am pleased to feel
the same
about him...

reading two issues of a famous magazine of 40 years
ago, the writing that I felt was bad then,
I still feel
is
that way

and none of the writers have lasted.

sometimes there is a strange justice
working
somewhere.

sometimes
not...

grammar school was the first awakening of a long hell
to come:
meeting other beings as horrible as my
parents.

something I never thought
possible...

when I won the medal for Manual of Arms in the
R.O.T.C.
I wasn't interested in
winning.

I wasn't much interested in anything, even the
girls seemed a bad game
to chase: all too much for all too
little

at night before sleeping I often considered what I
would do, what I would be:
bank robber, drunk, beggar, idiot, common
laborer.

I settled on idiot and common laborer, it
seemed more comfortable than any of the
alternatives...

the best thing about near-starvation and hunger is
that when you finally
eat
it is such a beautiful and delicious and
magical thing.

people who eat 3 meals a day throughout life
have never really
tasted
food...

people are strange: they are constantly angered by
trivial things,
but on a major matter
like
totally wasting their lives,
they hardly seem to
notice...

on writers: I found out that most of them
swam together.
there were schools, establishments,
theories.
groups gathered and fought each
other.
there was literary politics.
there was game-playing and bitterness.

I always thought writing was a
solitary profession.

still do...

animals never worry about
Heaven or Hell.

neither do
I.

maybe that's why
we
get along...

when lonely people come around
I soon can understand why
other people leave them
alone.

and that which would be a
blessing to
me

is a horror to
them...

poor poor Celine.
he only wrote one book.
forget the others.
but what a book it was:
Voyage au bout de la nuit.
it took everything out of
him.
it left him a hopscotch
odd-ball
skittering through the
fog of
eventuality...

the United States is a very strange
place: it reached its apex in
1970
and since then
for every year
it has regressed
3 years,
until now
in 1989
it is 1930
in the way of
doing things.

you don't have to go to the movies
to see a horror
show.

there is a madhouse near the post office
where I mail my works
out.

I never park in front of the post office,
I park in front of the madhouse
and walk down.

I walk past the madhouse.

some of the lesser mad are allowed
out on the porch.
they sit like
pigeons.

I feel a brotherhood with
them.
but I don't sit with them.

I walk down and drop my works
in the first class slot.

I am supposed to know what I am
doing.

I walk back, look at them and
don't look at
them.

I get in my car and drive
off.

I am allowed to drive a
car.

I drive it all the way back to my
house.

I drive my car up the driveway,
thinking,
what am I doing?

I get out of the car
and one of my 5 cats walks up to
me, he is a very fine
fellow.

I reach down and touch
him.

then I feel all right.

I am exactly what I am supposed to
be.

Arriving Home

After enough time has passed, it becomes difficult to even know where to begin. The little anecdotes of the days seem unimportant compared to the vast summary of my life that I feel inclined to update. Feeling the need to embark on such a task has been looming over me for days now, so I thought the best way to begin would simply be to, well, begin.

I’m home now. I arrived back in the United States on Saturday morning after twelve hours on an Indian bus down a mountain, a twenty-hour flight, a three-hour lay over followed by a two-hour flight. Welcome home. Arriving in Chicago was one of the oddest sensations I’ve ever experienced. Everything seemed so excessive. Stores and restaurants filled with so many options, people chatting to one another in a language I could understand, the faint smell of cookies wafting through the vents of the airport. It all felt so unnatural, so surreal.

The first few days home were difficult. I awoke my first two mornings here and wept, for reasons I couldn’t explain then, and reasons I can’t explain now. I was just so consumed with emotional instability. I just didn’t feel like I fit here, felt so out of place. I just didn’t know where I belonged.

I knew, of course, that it would be difficult to adjust. I just hadn’t realized the vast degrees to which that would be true. I hadn’t fully prepared myself, and I’m not sure that I ever really could have. It’s hard to return so different to a life so much the same.

Which is not to say I somehow think I’m superior to the life I once lived, nor do I believe I’ve outgrown it. It’s simply that I keep somehow expecting to turn a corner and be back in India, back to that place I love so dearly. It feels so close, and yet so far. It feels like I’ve only just arrived home and as though India were a thousand years ago. Perhaps maybe even just some elaborate dream I once dreamt. I fear the reality of it is slipping from me. I fear the person I became there is someone I left behind, someone who can only exist within the confines of one country.

I know that isn’t true, but leaping into my old routine the way I have -- returning to work right away, going out with friends every night -- has left me somewhat on edge about who exactly I am. My ability to adapt to my surroundings scares me sometimes. That line between happiness and complacency, between contentment and settling, haunts me. I never know which side I’m falling into. I’m never quite sure if I’ve convinced myself out of something I really want and need. It’s always easier to remain the same than to be daring, but my heart won’t stop aching for adventure. My heart won’t stop daring me to be more.

I want to be more. I want to be like the people I met traveling, the people who have spent their lives seeing the world. I don’t want to be 50 years old sitting behind a desk receiving emails from friends living the life I wish I could be living. I want to be the one living. I want to be alive.

Alive. Not just breathing. Not just going through the motions of each day, but burning with the kind of passion I felt while in India. I want each morning to glimmer with the prospect of beauty and exploration and adventure the way it did on my journey. I want the world to resonate with the kind of exquisite energy I felt there.

America just doesn’t have the same vibe. I know how ridiculous that probably sounds, but it was the first thing I noticed arriving home. There was an energy missing, a remarkable, ubiquitous feeling of friendliness and openness and love. But maybe that’s my new adventure. Maybe finding that in my surroundings wherever I am, finding that within myself, is the new journey I’ve only just begun. Maybe the key to feeling alive is as simple as living with a spirit that sets each morning ablaze with that kind of energy. Maybe I’m closer to the life I want than I ever could have imagined.

Wandering Light

Well...

How to even begin? For a variety of reasons that I'll explain later, five of us have "parted ways" with our volunteer program. We weren't exactly planning on it, but weren't exactly devastated by the news either. I think it really was for the best, although it certainly would have been easier to stay.

Still, easy isn't what I want out of life. Easy and comfortable don't move me forward, don't push me to my limits, don't aid in my growth as a human being. I need more. I need adventure and fear and life defining choices. I need to be brave and strong and independent. I need to let go of myself in order to find myself, to discover exactly what I'm capable of.

Which works out well, considering I'm currently aimlessly wandering around India. I'm living with three of my friends at the moment in Bhagsu, although in a few weeks, two of them are leaving to become monks and the other to do a meditation retreat. I still have no idea what I'll do or where I'll go from here, but I'm really enjoying dwelling in the endless possibilities I have before me. I'd rather be wandering with uncertainty than stagnant with contentment. I'd rather be here, feeling daring and wild and free, than being looked after and lead around. I'm in India. I'm free.

I haven't shaved my legs since I've been here - seven weeks now - and I'm not planning to until I get home. I love the way it feels, not so much the hair itself, but the freedom to look and feel and act any way that I please. I'm free from judgment. I'm free to just exist. I'm free to just be me, whoever that is, whoever I choose it to be. I love this place, but more than that, I love who I am here.

I'm in a town brimming over with British and Israeli hippies, and for the first time, I feel genuinely at peace with everything and everyone, especially myself. Each day I go and sit upon a cliff overlooking a gorgeous valley and write. Each day I leave and return to one of many small restaurants where I sit barefoot on the floor beneath a canopy and observe the world around me. Each day I feel more and more like the person I've always longed to be, living the life I've always longed to live.

I used to believe that I loved people, but it's so much more than that. I love people, but not just the ones I've met. I love every person, every object, every feeling, every grain of sand and every burning star. I love life, but not just mine. I love the earth for being alive, and for being the keeper of so many living things, and so many non-living things, and so many things lingering in between. I love my existence, but more than that, I love all of existence. I love being a part of it.

I am consumed with a kind of love and gratitude I've never felt before. How can I even begin to explain it? It feels like a light, burning at the very center of me, pulsing and expanding and pouring through every inch of me like some unstoppable force. And when I smile, that's the light pushing through. And when I cry, my tears act as tiny prisms, dripping with light, casting rainbows across my face. And when I laugh, that's the light spontaneously bursting within me, erupting into the universe to resonate in the abyss.

That's what it feels like to be me, or at least, that's the best I can explain it. So, who am I today wandering aimlessly around India? Today I am a light, a fire, an explosion of joy. Today I burn with love and life and the enchanting potential for more. Today I am my favorite version of me as I wonder and wander through the world, smiling all the way.

Always a smile. Always optimistic. Always light in the dark. Always me, through good times and bad, always, always me. And I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh, because I wouldn't want it any other way.

Finally, An Update

I'm not even going to attempt an apology for not keeping in touch here. What I will offer is the promise to fill in ALL of the many missing details as soon as I return. I have them all written down, I just haven't had the time to write them here. Soon, I promise, soon.

I'm in Dharamsala now, way up in the Himalayas. It's absolutely gorgeous. I was lucky enough to be placed in a flat with a balcony overlooking the entire city. The mountain range gleams in the distance behind a sprinkling of mist. The sky has never appeared so vast and infinite in all my life. It's a phenomenal feeling to stand and watch the world illuminate beneath the sunrise every morning, to see every star burn in the dark night sky. It's so quiet and peaceful and amazing.

Of course, it's incredibly different from Delhi. We've added a whole new level to the India "roughing it" idea. In truth, we're just in a much poorer area. We can't take showers, but rather fill a bucket with water and pour it over us. We can't flush anything down the toilet. We (obviously) still can't drink the water, but have to be that much more careful here. We have no fridge, and often, no electricity. Still, like the locals, we're happy. Still, we continue on. It's really funny how little we need the things we've always thought of as necessities.

My volunteer work here lights up my heart to degrees I can't begin to express. Every morning I awake and walk down to the local water pump with my school supplies--crayons and paper and books. We get driven up and then down another mountain, past the dry river banks, past the fields of cows and workers, past the speeding sign that asks "what's the hurry?" We arrive at a small building, one room, and are greeted by 10 to 15 little Indian children all yelling good morning. They may be the sweetest things I've ever seen. I just adore them.

I teach them games and numbers and colors. They laugh and cry and learn. We dance, oh goodness how we dance, as the teachers drum along on old boxes. There's so much joy in that little room, so much unbridled happiness. I awake each morning smiling, just knowing that will be my day. One of my kids is named "Love," and I think that just says it all. I am so, so, so very happy.

Things have been noticeably different here than they were in Delhi though. I have much more down time to sit and think. The "market" is much further away and so we've spent very little time venturing out at night. Still, it's been a different kind of wonderful. We've sat out under the stars getting to know each other better. We have 16 new volunteers, so it's been a complete change from the group of original 9 we've come to know and love so well. I'm so glad to know them. I'm so grateful to them and for them, especially because there's been some upsetting home-life news slipping in via the internet. I'm so lucky to have these beautiful souls by my side to explore the infinite abyss, and not a day goes by when I don't think of that.

The love I feel to and for and from India is a love I never knew existed. It is truly the most comfortable and friendly place I've ever been to, and I feel more comfortable and friendly in it than at any other point in my life. I'm sure I sound like a broken record at this point. I know you want details. I'm just so consumed with the emotional aspect of my life here that the details have comparably become almost insignificant.

Still, I promise to share them all with you. I promise to share the beauty and suffering, the strength and fragility, the highs and the lows I see and feel here each day. There are a countless number of phenomenal moments to share. I just hope that one day, I'll be able to do them justice. I hope that one day, I'll be able to bring you here with me, to this place of magic and wonder and life. I hope that one day, I'll be able to make you experience the all consuming love I feel right now. One day I will. I promise.

The Gift Of Awareness

I've been here a little over a week and my journal is already almost completely full. I've been writing in every free moment that I have, and still I feel as though the events of my life here are impossible to keep up with. It's so difficult to even know where to begin when I update this.

Friday night we all went out to an extremely fancy dinner (that cost a total of 10 dollars a person), and then out to an Indian night club for drinks. It was an amazingly good time. There was this huge dance floor that we all took full advantage of, and when "Billie Jean" began to play, I got more excited than any person ever should. Needless to say, I went around and got the entire bar to come dance their hearts out to Michael Jackson. It was fantastic.

As we wandered home around 2am, we turned the corner to find ourselves face to face with a huge elephant roaming the street. The man riding it saw our excitement and had the elephant stop so we could pet him. He offered us a ride, but mama always taught me not to take rides on elephants with strangers (thanks, mom), so we just hung out with him for a while in the street.

Three hours later, four of us crawled out of bed to begin our journey to the Taj Mahal. It's about a three hour car ride away, and I loved every minute of it. We drove through the countryside, through the cities, through the inbetweens. It was all SO beautiful, and just how you'd picture it. There were fields dotted with men and women in bright oranges and blues and greens. There were crowded streets filled with cars and cows and pigs and people. There was immensley saddening poverty and really gorgeous views. It was all so sublimely eye-opening.

I am so aware here, aware of the world, aware of myself. Everything makes me think about life on so many levels. I think about why we're here, why we're so different, why we're so similar. I think about what's beyond it all. It's a constant struggle to compare my life with those impovrished souls I see on a daily basis. I'm always thinking "I could never live that way," as though it were a choice, as though I wouldn't have to learn to if my circumstances had been different. No one should have to learn to live that way, but they do. They learn. They learn to work hard for nothing, to beg, to accept their place in life. They learn to lead a life of poverty.

How much I've wasted - time, money, resources, knowledge. How much I've taken for granted. I know that it's a cliched revelation, but for the rest of my life, I'll remember these people in the fields and on the streets. I'll remember during my comparably insignificant daily struggles, the eyes of the mothers outside our car windows begging us for money, the men on the street with missing limbs trying to get from point A to point B on their own, the abandoned children crying for attention and affection. I'll remember them, always. I'll take them back with me to my world of beers and starbucks coffees and AIM and facebook, back to the world of frivilous dillemas and needless complaints. I'll carry them home with me and share the gift they've given me, this gift of awareness.

I know that it sounds somewhat lame, but for the first time in my life, I feel whole. My friends have always been such a big part of my life, of me, and surely they always will be, but I'm more than that here. I'm more than a collection of my friends. I am me. I am this brave, friendly, independent person out exploring the world. I miss all of you, of course, but I'm also so grateful to have this reminder that I am capable of being separate from you. I'm defined as more than the girl from Chestnut Hill. I'm living my life for me, and it feels wonderful.

I have so much more to write, especially about the children I'm working with, but it will have to wait for now. I'm happy to be able to write here, but can only be here for so long before I hunger to get back outside, back out into this phenomenal and magical place, back out into life. I am so sublimely alive.

Happy Holi!

I am so sorry for my horrendous lack of updates. I do have internet here, but it's insanely slow and not wireless, so uploading all of my pictures is going to have to wait. It's frustrating not to have more time to say all that I'd like to say or have a more suitable place to concentrate on things, but this will have to do for now.

When I do finally get a chance to update my photos, I'm quite sure that your jealousy will consume you. It is so utterly amazing here. Everything is so rich in life and culture and color. Every day is a beautiful adventure. As one of my new friends, Jordan, said over breakfast yesterday, "there's something really so magical about this place. It feels almost enchanted."

Yes, enchanted. If I had to pick one word, it would be enchanted, although even that doesn't begin to do this wonder of a place the justice it deserves. I literally cannot open my eyes without feeling inspired. The whole city seems to resonate with such gorgeous energy. I've never felt so alive.

Today was the Holi festival, the celebration of spring and the victory of good over evil. We wore all white and walked out into the street. Hundreds of children came running over in order to cover us with water and dye. Water balloons hit the street around us. By the time we left to go to the rooftop of our program director for our official celebration, we were already walking masterpieces of blues and pinks and greens. We spent the afternoon dancing and drinking and laughing and coloring one another from head to toe. I took two showers and am still completely covered. My hair is so shockingly bright green and probably will be for the next week or so. I really wish I could put my pictures up. They're extraordinary.

It was so wonderful to bond with everyone that way, to skip the usual awkward conversations (although we've done most of those) and just get to a place where we were comfortable holding each other down and drenching one another with every color of the rainbow. I've never been so dirty and stupendously happy in my life. It really was one of the greatest days I've ever experienced.

We've been seeing so many sights and I'll explain them all in greater detail when I can upload the pictures and think about this a bit more. Please excuse how truly scattered and rough this is, and that most likely all of my updates to follow will be. It's somewhat difficult to wrap my head around anything, especially in the few moments I have to come here and attempt to share some of what I'm seeing and doing and feeling.

I've had more mixed feelings here than I've had in a while, and daily feel like crying with both immense sorrow and joy and utter peace with myself and the world around me. I feel everything here so deeply, as though my soul has been longing for this kind of release throughout my entire existence thus far. I guess in so many ways, it has. I've been here 5 days and already feel like a completely different person - in a good way, in the best way. I can feel myself change from the time I awake to the time I fall asleep. Each day I am one step closer to understanding.

Anyway, out of the millions upon millions of things I have to say, this will have to do for now. India. I'm so very much head over heels in love with this place.

India.

A Shamefully Quick Goodbye

This is my last post from home. I'm so sorry, dear blogger friends, that I've had so little time this past week to update and respond to your lovely comments and posts. Just know that they've meant the world to me. I'll be thinking of all of you constantly while I'm gone and will do my best to check in on you as frequently as I can.

Liz, I got your package today. You are an absolutely amazing and kind and generous person. Thank you so, so, so much my dear! Everything in it was so utterly PERFECT. I wish I had time right now to post pictures of it all, but I'm heading out the door to take care of some last minute things as we speak. Just know that this meant the world to me, and I'll send you a better thank you as soon as I get settled in India.

India. Tomorrow!!!

Goodbye for now everyone. I love you all and will miss you tremendously. Please feel free to email often (faz222@aol.com)! I'll do my best to get back to you as soon as I can. I'll be blogging of course, as well.

Off I go, into the infinite abyss. Wish me luck ;)

The Basics

Somnambulist Seeker and Sky asked if I could do a quick explanation of my trip. It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time, as this morning I received my assignment. It’s still a bit vague, but I sort of almost like it better that way. I like that it will all be new and unexpected.

Here’s what I do know for certain. I’ll be volunteering at Mobile crèches, which is a non-profit organization that provides day care facilities to the underprivileged children in the slums and construction sites of Delhi, Mumbai, Pune, Gurgaon & Noida. The centre caters to the holistic development of the child, which includes nutrition, education & basic health care facilities and community outreach. I’ll be working with children from ages 3-6 and teaching them everything from their ABC’s and colors to sharing and working together in groups. I think it will be a really amazing experience.

I’ll be in New Dehli for five weeks and then Dharamsala for seven. I have yet to receive my volunteer assignment for Dharamsala, but am told it will be along the same lines. Because I don’t know very much about either place, I thought I’d just post a brief explanation taken from the Cross Cultural Website, the program through which I’m volunteering.

About Dehli: “Built on the Yamuna River, New Delhi is the capital of India and is both a thriving modern city and home to much of India's great history. For centuries, the area has been a central hub of Indian life, with roads leading to every part of the country. International travelers come to India to see some of the world's most beautiful architecture, from the Great Mosque to the Mughal Palace. Among these grand structures you will find people from all over India. Cross-Cultural Solutions was founded in India and the first Volunteer Abroad program site opened in New Delhi in 1995. Country Director and local community leader, Bela Singh, played an integral role in developing our volunteer program and the organization as a whole. This will come as no surprise to volunteers who have already visited India or know its history; from Ghandi to modern activists, the people of India exude creativity in the face of challenge. In the streets of New Delhi, you are sure to encounter unimaginable poverty, but if you are open to learning, the experience can offer insight to global issues and the resilience evident in the individuals you will encounter will inspire you.”

About Dharamsala: “Located in the northern Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, Dharamsala was founded as an Indian Hill Station during the time of British rule and did not receive much attention until 1959, when the Dalai Lama fled to the area and settled at the former hill station. Dharamsala is set in beautiful cedar and deodar forest with the Himalaya mountain range as its backdrop. The nearby snow line makes the location even more picturesque and is a popular starting point for hiking, while the temples reflect the influence of Tibetan culture that has impacted this region of India, making it a unique meeting place of two ancient traditions. The refugee Tibetan community is rich in culture and welcomes visitors; volunteers in Dharamsala enjoy learning about its customs and history and often visit the area where the Dalai Lama resides.”

They’re just brief explanations really, and don’t even begin to embody what I’m sure to discover there. I’ve already begun to form ideas and visions in my head, but am quite certain they will all be quickly surpassed. Three days. Three days. Oh what a life I lead.

Anticipatory Angst

I apologize for my truly awful lack of updates. The trouble with returning to my journal is that it begins to take over my life. I’m already a quarter of the way through it, and it’s only been three days. I’m a little worried about having to carry hundreds of journals back from India if I keep going at this rate. Blogging and emailing should be good distractions from it.

I still can’t believe that I’m leaving on Thursday. People keep asking me how I’m feeling, and yes, I am extremely excited and perhaps even a little nervous, but neither of those words seem to fully embody the emotional state I’m in right now. It’s something more. It’s what one of my favorite people calls “anticipatory angst.” It’s knowing that my life will never be the same as it is in this moment. It’s the thrilling prospect of adventure, and the rewarding experience of making peace with my life as it is now. This is it. I’ll never be exactly this same way.

I’m so excited for what I will be, for the kind of person I can already feel myself becoming. I am growing. I am beginning to step into the role of the life long learner I’ve kept tucked away in my head and heart for so long. I am stepping into the world as a writer, an explorer, a lover of life. I am stepping into the world ready to receive whatever it has to offer me. I am opening myself up to possibility.

Thursday afternoon, my best friend’s mom called me to wish me luck on my trip and to far too kindly compliment me on my blog. It was so absolutely lovely of her. It really does mean so very, very, very much to me that people even take the time to read this, let alone talk to me about it. It’s really quite amazing how many conversations this blog has initiated for me, how many relationships it’s strengthened. It’s become a really important part of my life.

It allowed me to spend my time at dinner on Thursday night with my brother and sister-in-law discussing things I’d been really longing to discuss. We talked about Tommy in China and how I felt about his decision to potentially move there. We talked about our families and the dynamics of the relationships within them. We talked about traveling. We talked about politics. We talked about my relationship with my father.

It meant everything to me. Most especially getting to talk about my dad with the one person I felt could really ever understand it fully, my dear, dear brother. I’m sorry that we’ve both had to go through this, he probably much worse than me, but I am grateful that I have someone to talk to, someone to listen, someone who understands. I am grateful that I feel closer to him because of it, and maybe even more like him because of it. I’m grateful to feel that I’m like someone that I admire as much as I do.

Later that night, I made my way up to Villanova to see someone else I greatly admire. I spent the night talking and laughing with him and his friends. It was wonderful, really wonderful. I was so immensely joyful to have that opportunity to say goodbye to him. I was so immensely joyful just to be out doing something different, meeting new people, having my faith in my happiness be renewed and reinforced. It made me so much more excited for my trip.

I’m so excited to meet new people and share new laughter. I’m so excited to experience new things, to expand my knowledge, to revel in the new depths of my soul. I’m so excited to grow into me, into the truest version of myself that I’ve ever been before. The future is waiting and I am stepping into it ready to be amazed.

Welcome To March

The first day of March. It ended with this beautiful view from my second floor deck. Sometimes I just stand out there gasping at the natural miracle that is our sky. It never ceases to amaze me.

This morning I found myself in a little artsy cafe downtown. It's fascinating the way I feel so at home in those places, the sudden sense of overwhelming peace that grows within me as I ease through the door. Life seems to slow within their walls; the quiet readers and writers sipping on flavored coffee while the aromas dance about their heads, twirling and mixing with the ideas they’ve begun to let loose. It’s always so exhilarating and calming and utterly beautiful. It was a delightful way to begin March.

The minute I sat down, I realized something was missing. Something had been missing for quite a while now. My journal. In all of the time spent blogging and filling books with poems and quotes and just the daily routines of life in general, I neglected my poor journal. I used to sit down and write every day, sometimes multiple times a day, as often as I could, but these past few months have been more sporadic. I had a few pages left in the latest journal and just let them sit blank upon my shelf. I let the routine drop. I forgot how much I needed it.

Today being the first day of a new month, I decided in the coffee shop to go home and begin writing again, to start fresh and never stop, to write on and on forever. I decided it was the perfect time for a new beginning. Imagine my surprise to walk through the front door and find this waiting for me:



A lovely and wonderful and absolutely perfect journal from Michelle. I was beyond ecstatic. I love the way she seemed to know me better than I knew myself, the way she unknowingly anticipated the exact moment I’d need this. Thank you Michelle. Thank you. Thank you. I love this book so dearly and have already begun to fill its pages with thoughts and ideas and hopes for the future.

After only a few sentences, I fell in love with journals again. I fell in love with the feel of the pen moving across an empty page. I fell in love with the smooth manner in which my thoughts glided beneath my fingertips. I fell back in love with writing.

The purest form of writing. The say what you feel, honesty filled, no going back kind of writing. I hadn’t even fully realized how much I’d been missing it. I used to sit outside beneath the trees writing this way for hours. Everything else in the world seemed to melt away around me, and yet, I’d become so intensely aware of the little details. The way the wind sounded through the trees, the birds interactions with one another, the coolness of the creek cascading over my naked feet. I felt so alive.

This evening I took my journal up onto the deck. I sat beneath the sunset of pinks and purples and oranges. I let the curve of each letter written guide me to the next. I allowed myself to feel alive again. Welcome to March, the world seemed to say, it’s going to be a glorious month.

Always (For Charles Simic)

Always so late in the day
In their rumpled clothes, sitting
Around a table lit by a single bulb,
The great forgetters were hard at work.
They tilted their heads to one side, closing their eyes.
Then a house disappeared, and a man in his yard
With all his flowers in a row.
The great forgetters wrinkled their brows.
Then Florida went and San Francisco
Where tugs and barges leave
Small gleaming scars across the Bay.
One of the great forgetters struck a match.
Gone were the harps of beaded lights
That vault the rivers of New York.
Another filled his glass
And that was it for crowds at evening
Under sulphur yellow streetlamps coming on.
And afterwards Bulgaria was gone, and then Japan.
"Where will it stop?" one of them said.
"Such difficult work, pursuing the fate
Of everything known," said another.
"Down to the last stone," said a third.
"And only the cold zero of perfection
Left for the imagination." And gone
Were North and South America,
And gone as well the moon.
Another yawned, another gazed at the window:
No grass, no trees...
The blaze of promise everywhere.

~Mark Strand

Dwell In Possibility

This is the wooden block that sits on my kitchen window. Every day I watch the sun setting miraculously behind it. Every day I look upon these words and think about their wisdom. Every day I am struck by the beauty of the sun leaving me with this thought. Dwell in possibility.

Sometimes it feels as though my whole life revolves around possibility. The world burns with possibility, with potential, with the idle dreams of dreamers. I like to think that people’s wishes, fulfilled or unfulfilled, hang in the air for the rest of us to step into when the time is right. I know I’m not the first person to want the things I want, to believe the things I believe. I know I’m not the last, either.

I’ve been thinking a lot today about what Deb said, about how fear prevents us from moving forward, from acting on our desires. I know the feeling all too well. Procrastination is hardly ever simply a matter of laziness. It’s about avoidance. It’s about being unable to face one’s fears and apprehensions about what needs to be done. I worry that there’s too much of that in my life.

I worry that without the help of my mother and friends pushing me to do what I need to do, I’d be incapable of doing anything. I’m good about acting on my instincts, about listening to my heart, but I have so very much to learn about taking the necessary steps. I have so very much to learn about trusting myself.

I used to think that without anyone else in my life, things would be easier. I know that it’s illogical, but part of me wished that I didn’t have so many ties to loved ones. It would be so much easier to be free. It would be easier to pick up my things and leave to travel the world. It would be easier to have no plans and no definition of myself. I felt like it would be easier to change my life if so much of it wasn’t already happy.

I know that it sounds awful to say such a thing. Why would anyone want to give up happiness? Well, I don’t know, but a part of me always has. A part of me would rather constantly dwell in possibility, in what could be, instead of what already is. It’s somewhat difficult for me to accept contentment in my life.

I am, in so many ways, content. I am joyful and blessed and happy. I am lucky enough to like my life. Still, there’s always that possibility of more. And I hunger for it. I long for those things I have yet to discover. I long for that life I have yet to live. I long for change.

But those changes are yet to be defined. Maybe out of fear. I could write out a whole list of things I want to do before I die, but I’m afraid of the sadness I’ll feel if they never get done. I’m afraid of the possibility of failure. I’m afraid of that possibility in which I dwell.

Dwell in possibility. I suppose that means both the good and the bad. I suppose all of life is taking risks. Some things work out, some things don’t, but the only regrets to be had are those not tried. Sure, it’s a generic idea, but an important one to keep in mind. It’s important to remember that every thought and action and dream presents the potential for more. It’s important to take each chance no matter how great the fear behind it. It’s important to dwell in possibility.

Dwell in possibility.

Within You Without You

We were talking about the space between us all
And the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth, then it's far too late, when they pass away.

We were talking about the love we all could share, when we find it
To try our best to hold it there, with our love
With our love we could save the world, if only they knew.

Try to realize it's all within yourself
No one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small,
And life flows within you and without you.

We were talking about the love that's gone so cold and the people,
Who gain the world and lose their soul
They don't know -they can't see- are you one of them?

When you've seen beyond yourself then you may find, peace of mind,
Is waiting there -
And the time will come when you see
We're all one, and life flows on within you and without you.

~The Beatles

A Question Of Wisdom

Sky so sweetly asked "But, do tell - how did you get to be so wise? What gave those innocent eyes the insight of a woman who has lived on this earth far more years than 21?"

My mom and I were discussing this very question over dinner on my birthday. I've always thought of wisdom as something that comes from experience, and experience as something that comes with age. I was taught very young that it was so important to listen to your elders. It was so important to take in what they were saying, to accept it as truth, to understand that they knew things that I had yet to learn. I do understand that. I listen very closely to the advice they dispense, the stories they share with me. I love that almost everyone who reads and comments on this blog is older than me because they share with me those lessons that they've taken away from their lives.

But when I stop to think about it, I realize that I listen to everyone that way. I learn just as much from the children who tell me stories as I do from the adults. I learn just as much from the friends who see the world so dramatically different than I do as the ones who see it the same way. I learn just as much from listening to myself as I do from listening to everyone else. I am living to learn.

I am living to share my own stories and experiences and wisdom. I think that I've always underestimated myself in terms of what I know. I've never considered myself a particularly smart person. I defined smart people as being those who could make witty jokes about current events at dinner parties, who could get into heated debates about politics, who could eloquently express themselves with intricate and elaborate words. I wasn’t one of those people.

I was the girl who sat back and listened. I was the girl who watched the way people used their hands when they spoke or gave each other slight glances of emotion. I was the girl who noticed when the child in the room was about to get restless or the waiter became frustrated with the customer two tables over. I am still that girl.

The minute my mother said, “where wisdom is concerned, you’re off the charts, you must know that,” I knew it. I realized while we had been talking, my mind had been wandering to the two elderly couples sitting at the table behind us. I know it sounds morbid, but I had been wondering if they were prepared to die. I wondered if they had gotten all that they had hoped out of life, wondered if they had regrets, wondered if they still had plans for the future. I wondered what I would think about at that age, and realized I already do think about those kinds of things. It’s funny that I can be such a child and an adult all at once.

I suppose we all are really. We all have those things that we know and those things we have yet to learn. We all have a future and a past. We are all wise, in our own ways. I have yet to hear of a person who managed to get through their entire life without learning something. It’s nice to think of things that way.

I’ve been thinking so much over this past year about how big my life is, and yet, how small my existence is in the grand scheme of things. As a child I dreamed of changing the world, of becoming a part of history. I wanted to be learned about in schools. I wanted to be remembered long beyond the time when all of the people who knew me had left the earth, but things are different now. All that I want for myself is to know, for me, that my time spent here was worthwhile, and I know that the most important person to deem what is worthwhile is me. I am the creator. I am the narrator. I am the storyteller and this is my story.

Smiley Face

Although I got a very expensive and much needed digital camera for my birthday, my favorite present from my mother was a “report card” written by my preschool teacher when I was one and a half. I had never seen it before, and it was such an absolute joy to read it twenty years later. It’s amazing that I am essentially the same person now. It’s amazing that after so much time and so many changes, this is still exactly who I am. It’s amazing to know that I was born into this world with a smile on my face.

The report reads, “Frankie has been such a great part of our class. She socializes well, despite the fact that she is often the only girl! She has a laugh that will get her anything. In the next month, Frankie’s language is sure to blossom. She has a very delicate manner and enjoys a lot of activities. This openness will take her far. I’ve really enjoyed her smiley face!”

Smiley face. That’s me. I feel as though no matter what happens in my life, no matter how many downs accompany my ups, I’ll always have that smiley face. I’ll always know that I entered this world and will leave this world with that same genuine smile. I'll always know that's me.

At our final assembly in high school, I won an award with the following description. "The Caroline Susan Jones pin is a tribute given by vote of three upper classes and the faculty to a member of the senior class who has displayed courage, cheerfulness, fair-mindedness, good sportsmanship, whose influence is widely felt, who has the courage of her own convictions and who is respected by all. The winner is a competent, quick-witted, effective leader of her class. Not only does she give whole-heartedly and generously to all activities, she has a gift for interacting closely and sensitively with people of all ages and persuasions. She has a special knack for making others feel comfortable and valued. She is Frankie Zelnick."

She is. I am. I spend so much time trying to define myself, trying to figure out how each change in my life alters who I am, but I look back on these things written about me and realize that deep down I've been the same person all this time. Deep down, I will always be this person, and I'm grateful for that. My heart will always be searching for that love that makes it sing.

The picture above is a goofy one. Five of us took them at a concert we attended this summer, each one a black and white portrait of us in a moment of sheer happiness. They’re five of my favorite pictures, even if we all look rather ridiculous. There’s something really lovely about having such joy captured this way, of having captured the essence of our heart songs, of having captured our smiley faces. Smiley face. That's me.

The Big 2-1

I’m so terribly sorry for my lack of updates. Things got so hectic after my last post. I have so much to write about, I hardly know where to begin. Here’s my attempt at the most basic overview of the past few days.

Tuesday night I went to a bar known for not carding so that I could drink up until it officially turned midnight, but drinking too much too fast meant that I didn’t even make it to see midnight. At 11:55, I was already outside on the curb half passed out. I won’t fill you in on all of the embarrassingly drunk moments that preceded and followed, but I guess that it’s important to humiliate oneself on their 21st birthday. It will be a nice story to have for the future.

I spent all of Wednesday morning nursing a horrible hangover, but it was made bearable by all of the absolutely wonderful birthday wishes I received. It was one of those days that made me so utterly grateful for technology because between emails, facebook messages, and the fantastic birthday wishes from my fellow bloggers, I awoke to over a hundred little notes in my email inbox. It made me so incredibly happy. Thank you all SO much!

Wednesday night I went out to dinner downtown with my mom and little brother. It was so lovely. We had a phenomenal conversation over expensive food and drinks and I spent the night feeling so very grateful to have them as my family. We talked about life and how important it is to follow your heart. It made me realize how connected to them I really am. I am my mother’s daughter, a thought that never ceases to make me proud.

After dinner, a small group of my friends went out with me to a bar in Manayunk, where for the first time in my life, I had proper ID. It felt so nice not to have to worry about getting in or getting caught. It felt so nice to finally be grown up. The night was much quieter than the previous evening, and I was thankful for that. I needed a little down time. Still, it was lovely. It was so fun to just sit around, drinking and talking with some of the most wonderful people in the world. I really am so very blessed.

This morning I went into work for a little while and then spent the afternoon out at yet another bar with my coworker and friend. She’s nine years older than me and has been counting the minutes until my 21st birthday even more intently than I have. She was so excited for me and excited that we could spend more time together without the limitations of my being underage. We had a great time and a great talk.

I left and went straight to my older brother and sister-in-law’s house. We went to another expensive and beautiful Cuban restaurant downtown and had the most amazing time. They are two of the smartest, funniest, kindest, most remarkable people that I know and we spent the night delighting in each other’s company. I love that I learn something new about them each time that I see them. I love that they aren’t afraid to laugh and be whacky with me. I love that they find that perfect balance of treating me as both their little sister and their good friend. I just love them.

I apologize that this post isn’t in the least bit articulate or eloquent. I haven’t slept much and am still a little drunk from earlier today. I’m really not as big of a drinker as this post would imply, but it’s been nice to have that lifestyle for the past couple of days. It’s been nice to feel so loved and taken care of. It’s been nice to be 21. I can only hope the rest of my year, and all of my years, will be as perfect.