Category Archives: Musings and ramblings.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, or to these rambly musings and things.

My South American dream

Posted by —

3

Yesterday, I sat across from Jeremy while we ordered breakfast from our favorite north-of-Seattle joint. On his white shirt were the words “Cerveceria Kuntsmann: Valdivia, Chile.” I was puzzled for the briefest moment: Chile? Where’d that come from?

Oh, right. From me. I was the one who spent ten short months in that long, thin country at the end of the world, visited that brewery, and spent ten minutes mulling over which shirt to buy him.

Outside today, the characteristic nothwest rain pounds away the very un-characteristic 10 inches of snow that fell this week. I lay curled under my favorite comforter in my best friend’s mom’s spare room in Bothell, Washington, switching between listening to Gotye and reading. And in this comfortable little corner, the reality of those ten months seems like something more akin to a dream I had.

There are occasional reminders that it did actually happen. My skin is still a touch browner than Jeremy’s. My favorite Chilean sends me quick messages to complain about the draining heat in the south of the world. Spanish words sometimes leave my mouth out of instinct. In those little notes, I remember that world that I left a month ago.

And that’s the thing — it really has been only a month since I left.

In that month, I’ve acquired a job, a car, and put a deposit down on a fantastic apartment in North Seattle. I’ve spent time with my family, my friends, my boyfriend, my dog, and my dad’s new cat. Nothing seems new, or different. Everything is just the same as it ever was.

I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. On the one hand, it’s comforting. And on the other, it’s monotonous and draining. I spend hours researching more ways to get away.

It felt as though I was actually doing something of note for myself while I was in Chile. Something distinct, something to set me apart from the pack of 20-somethings that are just like me. Here? Shelling out marketing materials for a start-up company that I don’t entirely understand? Sure, I’m making my living and getting by and allowing myself to spend time with people I love — and that’s the most important part of any life, the people you spend it with.

But I worry. I worry about living my life without any passion. I see friends around me doing things they actually love to do, and it makes me … jealous? Something akin to that. In any case, I feel like I could be doing more. I feel wasted.

While I had Chile, to look forward to, to live with, I had passion. I had something I could cling to and say “You see this? This is mine, and I love it and I don’t have to let it go.”

This isn’t to discredit everything I have here. I’m incredibly grateful to everything I have here. I just feel a bit empty.

Now that I no longer have Chile, what do I look forward to? What’s next? What dreams do I have left?

Chile was a reality, but it was a reality that I made out of a dream that I had once. So I’ll cling to my South American dream, and hope that I can find another one soon.

Because I just might go crazy if I don’t.

stay positive, and love your life

Posted by —

0

I wake up kind of early. The Grandma Gross rolls my mom and I made the night before would have risen by now, so I’d preheat the oven. The catch, of course, is that I always forget — what temperature do I preheat it to? I knock on my parents’ door, waking them up, to ask.

350. I set it, then turn the TV in the living room to channel 8, NBC. I always estimate the timing of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade incorrectly — it starts later. In the meantime, I watch the coverage in my pajamas, keeping my nose alert for the smell of the sticky buns warming in the oven. They’re the best part of the morning. A family recipe, bread dough rolled thin and smeared with tons of butter, brown sugar, walnuts, and raisins. Soon, I’ll have to take the tin foil off so that the tops get brown and crispy.

When they’re finally ready, the parade is starting. I quickly pluck a few rolls onto my plate, spooning the caramelly syrup from the bottom of the pan over them. I pour myself a glass of ice-cold milk, then settle onto the couch to watch the parade.

Soon my mom will be up, to start with the cooking. I’ll be called into help, but mostly she’ll do it herself so that I can return to the parade. Then the family will start arriving: aunts, uncle, grandmas and grandpas and cousins and their family dogs.

We’ll gather together, and we’ll be thankful.

…

But not this year. Not even this year without me.

This year, I’m working a full day teaching English in South America, preparing for finals, and shopping at the Chinese Mall, and tanning on my friend’s rooftop.

This year, my parents are celebrating in different places altogether. This year, my mom wouldn’t have been there to remind me of the correct temperature, or to start cooking. The turkey wouldn’t be in the oven. In fact, it’s doubtful that oven will ever see a Thanksgiving turkey again.

I could be sad about all of this. Well, I am sad about this. In fact, I’m fending off tears in the teacher’s lounge as I type this.

…

Instead of waking up to my Grandma-Gross-roll-anticipating stomach, this morning I woke up to my usual 6:45 alarm. I put my phone’s music player on shuffle while I took my morning shower, and as I turned the water off, sad at the thoughts that I’ve been trying to avoid since August, I was assaulted with lyrics from a teenage favorite:

One thing I’ve got to say before sales dive
Stay positive and love your life

I smiled.

Things won’t be the same. That fucking sucks, and I’m angry about it, and I’m sad about it, and I want it to undo itself. But there are still so many good things about my life, including that I have the opportunity to live and work abroad. I have a boyfriend and great friends who all love me. My family, as much as I might hate the reality they’re in now, is awesome.

There’s plenty to be thankful for. And this Thanksgiving, I’ll remember it.

Even if it’s not to the taste of perfectly cooked turkey and Grandma Gross rolls.

…EDIT

Given the info that I’ve learned in the two hours since writing this, I felt compelled to add a bit more.

I found out during my last class that one of my students took his own life last night.

I didn’t believe it at first…surely, the student who was constantly smiling, giggling his little laugh, and was incredibly good at English couldn’t have been in a suicidal place.

I was wrong.

It just goes to show that we can never know if someone is depressed. I should have already known that — I was pretty damn good at hiding it myself back in March-June of 2010.

But I realize that I’ve been sort of blessed in that I have an incredible outlook. Even though I can be cynical and ridiculous about a lot of things, I have an eternal optimism that has been shaped by the positive people, the positive music, the happiness that I’m lucky enough to have in my life.

Stay positive. Love your life. It’ll never be perfect, and as Tall Brewnette wrote on my facebook today, “heartbreak comes in many forms…but nothing changes when you’re comfortable.”

And most importantly, share that positivity. You never know who needs it most.

seis semanas. gush-time.

Posted by —

2

Only six weeks left. Six weeks to the end.

I see myself back home. The hugs from friends I haven’t seen in too long. The laughter, the love. The rain, the grey skies, the music and newest trends I’m missing out on. Six weeks, and I’ll have all of it again.

I love my life. Not here. Not there. I love all of it, all of the people in it, all over the world.

Do you ever become grateful to the people who’ve hurt you? Sometimes I do. I think about them, the different ways they’ve cut and bruised me. I think about how broken up I was, how I felt that I would never heal.

I have a cut on my thumb that I got from carelessly slicing through some bread yesterday. I let it bleed, rinsed it, inspected it. I pulled the small wound apart to see layers of white skin, without a speck of blood. Minutes after I wounded my own flesh, my body had aleady clotted the blood. It had started to repair itself, regenerating cells to join those bits of flesh back together.

Soon, any trace of it might be gone forever, without a blemish of evidence that ever indicated pain. Or, maybe it will take longer to heal, leaving a toughened bit of skin. Something to match my other scars. Something to remind me.

It’s kind of incredible, when you think about it — that our bodies can heal and recover from all kinds of stresses and wounds, many without a trace of having ever existed. Our bodies are built to be repaired.

And for some reason, we always forget that this applies to the whole. Our bodies, of course, but also our minds, and our souls.

People have hurt me. I’ve hurt people. Humans, for all of our advancements in technology and human rights, will still hurt each other. Relationships are complex, fragile, and they’re never infallible. We push each other, we fall. We cut each other, we bleed. Sure, our bruises and our cuts on our minds and souls aren’t on display the way they are with our bodies, but they go deeper. They often scar badly, and take much longer to heal.

But they still heal. With more care, with more pain, but we heal. We’re made to be broken. We’re made to heal, and when we do, we bear the marks of injury as a reminder.

So I’m sometimes thankful to them, those people that pushed me, that cut me, that beat the shit out of me. They’ve left impressions unable to be forgotten, even if I wanted it so. They’ve made me this way, maybe even more than those that have never hurt me. They’ve shaped who I am, and they’ve helped give me this life that I love so much.

If you’ve ever hurt me — thank you. Chances are good that I’m over it, and I just smile to myself when I think of you now. Thanks for this scar.

You only have one life. Live it. Try to be happy with it. Especially when it seems the hardest.

200.

Posted by —

2

Two years, seven months.
One-hundred-ninety-nine posts.
Infinite change.

“People don’t change,” I’d told him adamantly. There was an anger, a harshness is my voice that wasn’t typical for me. Well — maybe it was for the time. Somewhere in the dark, I could feel his eyes rolling.

“They don’t,” I insisted. “People always say they’ve changed, and maybe they work at it for awhile, but they always revert to who they were to begin with. They don’t change, they only make an effort to be better or different. Sometimes it’s successful, and sometimes it isn’t. No matter what, whatever flaw they’re trying to change is hiding just beneath the surface. It’s there. They haven’t changed.”

I believed that vehemently a year and a half ago, when I wrote this entry, explaining why I’d told him that. Because I had never changed. As much as I didn’t want to be, I was still a coward. I was still lazy. I was still a liar.

Coward. Lazy. Liar.

Those were my three fatal flaws. They were a part of me. They were lifelong enemies, and I’d be fighting my whole life against them.

Except fast forward to a year and a half later — here we are. Am I still a coward? Am I lazy? Am I a liar?

Well, let’s see. Despite never being outside of the country, save for Mexican resorts, despite not speaking the language, despite a constant fear of never making friends — I moved to Chile.

More than that, though — I’ve thrived here. I fought past my fear of putting myself on a limb to make a lot of good friends. So…I think, that even though there are parts of me that still make me nervous, like calling my boss to make sure I have a job when I get home, I’m pretty confident in saying that I’ve kicked that fear in the ass. It no longer defines me and what steps I take in my life.

I’ll get rejected someday. But that’s okay.

Lazy? Sure. I just finished grading the midterms I gave two weeks ago. I took a three or four month blog hiatus. I have my moments, but in working very independently with my old job, and with the job I have keeping internet stuff maintained, being flat-out lazy isn’t really an option.

Am I lazy? No. Unmotivated? At times. But aren’t we all?

How about liar? I only lied in the past to cover up those two other flaws. So, without having to deal with those two much, my need to lie is dormant. We’ll see how it fares when faced with necessity.

Coward? Nope. Lazy? Change the vernacular — I’m just occasionally unmotivated. Liar? Negative.

I was talking with one of my best friends on Skype yesterday when it dawned on me…I’ve actually changed. 

But I still think I was halfway right — trying to change, gauging your progress, making that constant effort, isn’t how you make real change happen. If you’re fighting to be different, it can’t be all that real.

Instead, after a number of experiences, both based on actions of your own and on outside influences, you’ll turn to look down the path you’ve been walking, and what you’ll see are the pieces you’ve left behind. You’ll look in the mirror and notice a new laugh line. At that, you should smile. Somehow, you’ve changed.

Back then, I was terribly unhappy with myself and my life. I obsessed over those flaws, worried about them, battled with them, and always felt like I was losing. It wasn’t until I stopped giving a shit, when I became too happy with my life and the friends I had around me that I could start to really change.

And part of that change is completely credited to this blog, this small community that I’ve had reading along with me, cheering from the sidelines. Here I am now: two and a half years, 200 posts, a whole new person.

Thank you for that. When I get home I’m making you cookies. Really!

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, it’s spring here now.

with just a little help from my friends.

Posted by —

0

Saturday was a hard day for me. I knew, when I left seven and a half months ago, that it would be. And that’s because on October 8, two of my best friends got married.

I got a glimpse of the beautiful wedding via the wonders of technology. While waiting for the wedding to start, I chatted with a few friends between my viewings of Dr. Who, expressing the regret of my absence, the awesomeness of Chile, and the anticipation of my return in December.

As the wedding started, my video cut out, but I was still able to hear the ceremony. It was short, sweet, and altogether lovely. And just like that, two of my best friends were married.

This is Brad and Melissa. They are incredible.

Though I was stoked to have been there in some fashion, it was still really hard on me. I didn’t want to be there in some fashion. I wanted to be there. 

Though we’ve only been friends a few years — Mel and I met when we were both wage slaves at Macy’s — I’ve been through a lot with these two. From break ups, to hook ups, to badly thought out make outs, to debaucherous nights and chill evenings over tacos, they’ve been there for me. And, had I been there, I’d have helped with the whole affair. That’s just a part of who I am — a pretty damn dedicated friend to those who’ve been good to me. (Sometimes even those who aren’t all that good to me, but that’s a topic for another day.)

But, over a year ago, I decided to be selfish. Part of that demanded that I put what I wanted before what I thought I “owed” my friends. In that particularly selfish time, I wasn’t talking with them and I felt a bit of resentment – I don’t owe anyone anything, I thought. I want to live for myself, and not for my friends.

So I did that. And in doing that, I’ve learned that I was partially right — I don’t owe anyone anything. But, I want to be there for my friends. I want to give as much as I can.

That’s what makes this travelling and making friends thing really hard. With Brad and Mel, along with all my other friends at home, I’ll be back. I’ll be there for other important things. I’ll be around to give and to give and to help and to hang out and all that. There will be plenty of time to make up for missing all of this time.

But my friends here? I can’t say as much.

You make friends fast when you’re abroad. Brought together by the intense feeling of being so far away from home, connections are formed quickly and deeply. There are late night heart to hearts over a box of wine in those first weeks, there are epic nights out, there’s travelling and sharing incredible sights and experiences. It’s nearly impossible to not forge connections here.

But they’re temporary. But at least with my gringo friends, I can travel fairly cheaply in the US to see them.

But one of my best friends that I’ve made here — or, really, anywhere, is Chilean. When I leave here, I’m not, in theory, coming back. Knowing that I won’t be able to hang out with her six days a week, go shopping with her, make weird noises on the street with her, all of that…that really sucks.

In some ways, I’d rather have a boyfriend that I have to leave. The thing with boyfriends and girlfriends is that you always know that there’s a possibility that they could end. Sure, you try not to entertain the idea too much, but it should be there, lingering in the back of your mind somewhere. But with friends, it’s different. There aren’t any reservations in deepening your connections, opening yourself up like there are in relationships — in that way, it’s almost more dangerous to make friends abroad than to get into a relationship.

A good friendship can be just as intense as a relationship. There’s a lot of love in a good friendship, a lot of conversation, a similar closeness. Leaving that can be even harder as a boyfriend or girlfriend — because when I return to the US, I’m not going to be on the lookout for a new BFF. For one, I have several really close friends. But on top of that, you can have many close friends at a time. It’s leaving a relationship hanging on a thread, entering a perpetually forever LDR.

That’s why I’m so torn about the fact that I’ve booked my plane ticket home. Yes, I’ll get to see my friends and family again, and I’m stoked for that. But I’m also leaving all of my friends here, many of them forever.

This is probably redundant, but I’m having trouble tearing the concept from my mind. Leaving will be incredibly difficult on me.

me and chilean twin. connected, both physically and symbolically.

Also, today I learned that if you lock yourself out of your apartment, the doormen will work really hard to get you back inside. They’ll walk to different locksmiths so you don’t have to go outside without a bra while you hold your wet bras in your arms. I love this country.