A Letter to Catch Up

How long is a season? Traditionally, in terms of weather, perhaps three months. Winter feels longer, like it might never end, but if you've been around the sun a few times, you recognize that feeling and know that it is but a season. The good parts of summer always seem to fade too soon for my taste. We also talk about seasons of life, and it seems to me that "a season" usually refers to a less than pleasant circumstance. It also occurs to me that we don't really know when these seasons will end, or how long they will be, no matter how many sun revolutions we've weathered.

Since I last wrote to you, a small lifetime has elapsed. My grandma passed away after a short illness, I got two new jobs, our nephew died horrifically and we may not recover, we visited New York and I decided I want to be a career artist after all, we're moving within our city and moving into official ministry with that physical move, one of our children is in a particularly difficult phase, several of my soul sisters have been bobbing for apples in buckets of heaven and hell, and I am splashed in joy in pain. Last we talked, I was having an existential crisis (before all of that other stuff), but sometimes big questions get railroaded by careening situations and I don't know if that makes questions go away, or if they'll just visit again on a rainy day.

My heart started out slow burning, became engulfed in flames in a giant crush of sleepless nights and crying on the phone, expanded again with unforseen strength and lightness, grasping oxygen from the air in an unchaperoned effort to stay alight. I felt invincible, but it gave way to feeling fogged in.

I want to write out each event for my own processing, but I have not found the time or felt enough urgency to do them each justice. Some things are too fresh, besides. I have been thinking about how when I can return to writing more regularly, I will have grown a great deal. I think this makes me a better writer, but I also have less to say sometimes because I might be growing out of trying to control my own narrative. I think my spirit is both more resilient and more exhausted. My words evaporate into the atmosphere before they can be solidified, like perspiration into humidity.

It struck me with curiosity - at what point does one's life become a tragedy? Sometimes, after someone has died, we might refer to their life as a tragic one, but I don't usually think of lives as tragedies. In a narrative sense though, what amount of sadness tips a story from being a story with sad elements to being fundamentally tragic? Remember in the movie Stranger than Fiction when Harold Crick is trying to find out what kind of story he's in? Maybe it's foolishness or maybe it's faith or maybe it's story telling, but it seems to me that a tragedy is only a plot twist away from hope. That no story need remain a tragedy.

I recently met a young man who is working in the ER as a trauma surgeon at age seventeen. He washes dishes at the restaurant I work at for extra cash since the ER is too intense for them to allow him to work very many hours. He was telling me that he recently stuck his finger into someone's aortal bullet wound on the sidewalk in our city. With his finger in a heart in shock, the team discussed what they had 30 seconds to do to hopefully save this person. He pulled his finger out, they did their thing, and.... .... .... a heartbeat.

The hardest thing with bullet wounds, literal and otherwise, is whether there's an exit wound. If it's a clean break, you're good to go, but if the bullet gets stuck inside, it can put pressure on your vital organs and kill you. I'm no surgeon, but sometimes I think I'd take the literal bullet and my chances with a clean exit over these conceptual bullets that seem to lodge against the organs.

I mourn the end of summer every year because it's my favorite season. I am at my best in the warm air, the freedom from a fuller schedule, fewer clothes, the abundance of produce. But I don't hate fall as much as I used to, because back-to-school is a new kind of release from what invariably becomes a chaotic lack of routine. I was trying to prepare the boys for the possibility of switching schools away from friends, and I was reminding them that although they might leave some good things in an old place, there would be things in a new place that they will love, just like they've grown to love things in the past. Of course, I was talking to myself too. All I did as a kid was say goodbyes and hellos, and choosing goodbyes, even with the hope of new hellos, is something like open heart surgery to me.

(painting by Gail Potocki)

I am not an easy crier, and when I see people who do process externally, I think the way I handle grief is just so clunky. I am confident in so many ways, many of which are purposefully a departure from the norm, but I've spent a lot of time believing that other people's inner lives are more "right" than mine - others seem to ask fewer questions that result in ripping up the concrete of your own life every few years, others cry through their pain instead of being like a teakettle that heats all the water but then only sputters and scalds when it boils, others seem to have this spiritual life that is more intimate, more personal, more calming. My grief is so stubborn. But after aspiring to what appears to be a clearer path in others for so long and trying to bend myself into that shape (or not trying, but just feeling like it's out of reach for me), I'm starting to believe that the contortions of my heart are by design. Isn't that intense and frustrating? I mean, it's life-giving too, but it means that I was made in a shape that I don't yet understand, and maybe won't ever be comfortable with. Certainly some of the things we struggle with are the result of trauma or decisions, but things that are broken can be mended, if not fully restored. And the things that aren't broken are actually on purpose. Maybe I was meant to knock down the pillars of the temple I'm standing in, even if it crushes me.

God does not fail.
Nothing he does is by mistake.

I think about myself, I think about the ones I love, near and far. I think about the ones I don't know at all, but that I read about and see pictures of and I think this season is so long. 

Mirage

July 6, 2018. Likely the hottest day this year. My car, the one without AC, says it’s 111F outside. We race down the highway, trying to take off from the blazing planet like a bird. We’re up to illegal speeds, all the windows down (except the broken one), hoping the rush will create a breeze. Instead, it’s a motionless heat blanket, hotter than hot. So hot you can smell the wild fennel bulbs baking in the dirt on the side of the road. So hot that a deer carcass we pass looks blacked, like an honest to god barbeque. I’ve never seen that before.

I half expect the grasslands to spontaneously combust before our eyes. Every truck we pass smells like melting tires. Everywhere that skin touches skin feels like swampland, but every time I resettle a sweat-slick limb and create something like a stirring of the air, it feels like glory hallelujah. I expect to see the tiny metal lotus of my necklace searing a brand into my flesh, but reality denies me all the comforts of drama. I can feel the acid in my stomach beginning to simmer, making me sick. I want to get out and run in a panic circle, shouting the adult version of “fuuuuuuuuudge” like a wild animal that’s suddenly realized that its habitat is not conducive to life.

Instead, I drive on, afraid that if I stop the heat will be worse, an oppressive punch to the jaw that won’t let me up again. But I have two kids in the back seat. I pull off the freeway and park. I feel dizzy as the car slows. I step out, sway to the left, sway to the right. Yell at them to put their shoes back on. Why is it always the shoes? We make it inside where all I can say in answer to “how are you today?” is a demure, “toasty”, as the gal might be startled if I told her the truth.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I might be paying less than Starbucks is worth. Yelling is forgotten as I regain my humanity and we pretend we’re explorers in the Sahara. We make it the last 20 minutes home, where it’s a tepid 86 degrees. But the grande cup of ice we just got is pure liquid.

[artwork by Bjoern Ewers]

Diary of a Sad Lady

Despite my hopes for instant and wild fame as a result of blogging, it's always been something of a personal journal. A journal is a place where you don't have to have all the answers, you won't be graded on how well you argued your point, and it's okay to not have a point at all. I don't have bullet points today, and if I don't feel hopeful at the end of writing it, then I just won't end on a hopeful note.

I do love it when people give glowing reviews of whatever I have to say or I get praise for being "so honest". But it's not an achievement for me. There's always another layer I haven't reached or shared yet, not because it's too dark or too personal, but just because I'm a work in progress. In my mind - most days - I Have Arrived. The way I am is the culmination of everything I've said and felt and been and done up until now and I can't be any more than that. But I forget that tomorrow will add to that and I never really Arrive at the final version of myself. I've had everything worked out since I was 5, and it's a continuous irritation that I'm just not developing according to my master plan.

Rather than having arrived at Butterflyness, I think I'm more like something freaky emerging from a chrysalis. And my hips are stuck. I went in fuzzy and I'm coming out... still fuzzy. I'm beginning to realize that my butt just might not look at all like what I'd imagined. Figuratively speaking.

I'm sad. And I know it. And I don't know how to go through it instead of around it. Even if I knew how, I don't want to. Most of the time I'm not sad, but sometimes things happen that I can't prevent and that makes me recognize that little by little, I've made choices to insulate myself from feeling sadness. When that insulation gets chipped or threatened, I get a little twitchy. A lot twitchy. So twitchy that I've started to recognize that even though I don't know what it is that I'm suppressing or why it's there, it's something that I'm afraid of letting it out because I certainly recognize its magnitude.

In my waning ability to control this thing, I've noticed that I'm manifesting some neurosis, and that startled me. The most notable thing is that it's become increasingly difficult for me to drive. I've never been in a real accident, but my inability to control other drivers while I'm driving or the idea that anything unexpected could happen at any moment makes me extremely jumpy when driving, and I get sweaty and feel tingly. When I reach my destination I feel an inflated sense of relief. I've even begun to avoid some travel because I'm too stressed by the journey to get there. I think I will actually just get a little too sad right now if I explore how my must-control-my-environment coping mechanisms affects how I relate to my children. Sometimes I don't let them talk in the car.

Unresolved sadness upon unresolved sadness has built up into something that feels insurmountable. My family often asks me why I "bottle up my feelings" and I always deny that I do, because I certainly don't do it consciously. I have a lot of feelings and I express plenty of them. I recognize that "bottling" is not a good thing to do, and therefore I would never willfully ignore something that needed to be dealt with. But I guess that's the whole point - somehow I fake myself out of thinking the hardest things are worth dealing with, and that is by nature burying it.

If you're wondering why I'm sad or how I got to be cripplingly sad, I couldn't really tell you. I loved my childhood, but it was a never ending cycle of ended relationships and I was not in control of when I got to say goodbye. Or if I wanted to say goodbye. It's no ones fault, but it was sad then and it's sad now. There wasn't any use in fighting it and no one who deserved my wrath, so I never fought it and I didn't take it out on anyone. But fighting is part of grief, and since I never grieved, I guess I just skipped all the emotional work that's necessary when you experience something sad. Now, when I experience something sad, I don't know how to accept the sadness and it leaks out of me in other ways, like my control issues. And there's so much pent up sadness that is pushing against the back of my eyeballs whenever something even a little bit sad happens that it would be a disaster to let it all out over something that isn't worth a tsunami of feelings over. Sometimes, I've wished someone (no one in particular, calm yourself) would die so that I had an appropriate occasion to really lose my shit all at once.

I never really understand that whole "Instagram looks so perfect, but don't believe that perfect life" refrain. I'm not covering up a dark secret with images of my beautiful life. My life is actually beautiful a lot of the time and I'm not trying to pretend that I don't have problems. But then when I get to a place where I can even consider that I might be detached from part of my own being... well, how does one casually bring that up on Instagram or otherwise. Flower photo, vintage outfit photo, cooking tip, my kids looking cute, more flowers, oh by the way my mind and body are conspiring against my commands as a result of Unresolved Grief. Do you like my dress? I do.

In acknowledging that I have some emotional trauma buried that I need to process, I've had several people recommend that I develop a compassionate inner voice. I'm trying not to blow that off as the bougiest thing I've ever heard because the whole point is to acknowledge that maybe I am repressing something and I'm aware that I'm not currently equipped to handle the exorcism. Therefore, logic would dictate that I might need some new tools to help me. I have a few, but I'm not ready to use them yet. 

Am I mean to myself? I mean, not that I know of... but on the other hand, would a she-devil that's always been a she-devil know that there was any option out there but attack with fangs? As ironic as this is, I don't really want to bad-mouth my inner voice because she is... me. My inner voice chamber is where I don't have to filter the way I encounter the world in order to be polite. Yeah, inner voice can be sassy and ruthless, but so is reality.

I want to tell Inner Voice not to tell me to be nicer, because when I'm in pain, I don't want to be nice. And I don't want to feel guilty about having that space where I get to lash out without verbalizing my most wretched desires and dreads. I like a place to contemplate crimes without having to commit any. I also don't want Inner Voice to give me any bullshit about how the blackness of my heart will eventually come out of my mouth because that's what the Bible says will happen. Inner Voice right now to hypothetical Inner Voice telling me stuff I don't want to hear: "I know, dumbass, I can read." She's rude and mean. So am I. But she's also as honest as she knows how to be and recognizes when things suck and it sucks to feel them. And I don't want to nicen that up. I rely on cynical, angry voice to help me process things that I don't like. I guess I just don't know how to tone it down when I get past the angry phase.

I also don't want the internet to think that I don't have "real friends" with whom I can discuss these more troubling things with. I do have wonderful in-person friends. But sometimes I don't talk too good out loud and I have to wait for someone else to respond and Inner Voice has to be tamed for the sake of human relationships.

When I think about the idea that internal stress that I don't acknowledge affects me physically and in some really strange ways, I just want to watch myself as a bystander. I mean, how WEIRD is that driving thing?! If it was someone else telling me that, I'd think they were making it up or making a rather far-fetched connection, though it must be said I'm notoriously bad at connecting causes and affects related to my body. I just don't have the time to figure out if cheese makes my stomach uncomfortable. Even if it did, I'd still eat it. Things that don't fit in to my personal logic structure just get relegated to "must not be real".

I only experience one reality, personally, but I'm much more open to the idea that there is no such thing as one static "reality" than I used to be. I have my own reality, but the more I think about it, the less it worries me if someone else who is "crazy" believes they're communing with aliens and stuff. I mean, who am I to say they aren't? It's real to them. And I really can't prove that it's not real. Imagine how frustrating it would be if you really were an alien and no one believed you. Anyway, that's tangential, but being that this is my journal and all, I can acknowledge any number of realities that I want to. Who knows what other weird stuff I might do in the future as a result of... I don't know...anything?! The more I recognize my own illogical, inexplicable self, the fewer assumptions I make about other people's "crazy" behavior. I'm not sure why I even value "having it together".

Relying on an environment I can completely control is I think partly why I've stopped writing very much. It's too draining for me to process other people's responses or to second guess my own thoughts and feelings about things. I don't want to explain myself any better than I already have. I don't know if it makes sense, and if it doesn't make sense to someone I don't want to work harder to explain myself. I am releasing myself from explaining why I have the urge to share everything on the internet too (thanks, Sweet, Sadistic, Inner Voice). It's because I'm a really gifted, brilliant, funny, mostly always genius and right writer, okay. And the world deserves to have my sparkle rub off on all its peasants.

It seems to me that most men have a sense of self assurance. The other day, I heard a man praised as "someone who never second guesses himself". I was starting to envy that belief that one is always right, until I remembered that it takes a lot more courage and work to consider that you might be wrong. Someone who never second guesses themselves can never listen to criticism. But I listen to all criticism because I believe other people's words (usually) have value. I think that's mostly a good trait, but it becomes deafening sometimes.

I've been reading Pearl S. Buck's autobiography (My Several Worlds) for a long time now, and this passage really stuck out to me:

"[I was sent several pages of blistering rebuke over The Good Earth because] I had been so frank about human life... The worlds in which I have lived and grown have made me what must be called a controversial figure, as I have been told often enough, and this is because inescapably, by experience and nature, I see the other side of every human being. If he be good, then there is that other side, and if he be evil, there is again another side, and if the ability to comprehend the reasonableness of both seems confounding to those who are content with one dimension, to others as to me, it is an endless source of interest and amusement and opportunity for love and life. We have no enemies, we for whom the globe is home, for we hate no one, and where there is no hate, it is not possible to escape love."

This perhaps proves that my Inner Voice needs a makeover, but the only person I can't argue both sides for is myself, to myself. My own dualities can be so destabilizing that I end up feeling confused and even angry with my inability to figure myself out. I can't help but encompass everything all at the same time. I don't view myself as controversial, I'm just a giant umbrella that is inexplicably compelled to present you with every option you haven't thought of every time you open your mouth. I'm not mentally unstable (well, not very), I'm just too small a vessel to carry all the things that I've absorbed and if you don't understand that innately, it makes me overheat in an effort to HELP YOU SEE BEHIND THE CURTAIN. I'm a sad, confused droid that wants to help people but only knows how to communicate in droid-speak. So kind of like a not-very-helpful thing that wants to be helpful.

I don't like this. I am a strong, grown-ass woman who is usually proud of herself and is good at things and I'm not happy that part of my own team is sabotaging me with it's crazy psycho drama that is part of me but also not listening to me and YOU WICKED DEMON SADNESS MONSTER JUST STAY IN YOUR BOX. I've been doing quite well telling my feelings when and where to feel, and I have no intention of letting them run the show. This is not a democracy, it's a dictatorship. My subjects are getting cocky with their insubordination and their feeling coup d'états. 

Are there rehab facilities for sad people? Where you can go and kill stuff, followed by a quiet soak in a scalding bath in a pitch black room? With dessert afterward? Maybe a Japanese mafia spa.

Inner Voice says I am not brave enough to get my weird fuzzy butt out of this chrysalis.

{images: Picasso, Priscila Furtado, unknown}

Writing in Zero Gravity

I want to write, but I'm having a hard time.

I've been questioning why I write and should I write and how can I not write and sometimes what I should write. I start to write frequently, and then it's not good enough, and I throw it away and I try again.

I am a writer, but I'm not the best writer, and I hate this. I know that I will never be the very best, and that doesn't bother me so much as knowing I'm not as good as I could be and hopefully will be eventually. I know that between me and her, there is a lot of writing, but I hate that too.

I don't want to write fiction, I want to report and hypothesize and discuss and chastise and repent, and then repeat. But this is hard. Sometimes people don't like you or say things that hurt and make you question, and that is hard.

I want to write so well that no one can argue, but that will never happen. And that's probably a good thing. I want getting better to be enough and I want doing my best to be enough, but right now it's not. As soon as I make it half way through writing something, I hate it. Start over. Throw it out. Start over. Hate it. Start over. What am I doing. Start over. Who cares. Start over. It's pitiful. Start over. Trash. Start over.

What if I'm not brave enough to be a writer?

I read an article on writing by a renowned author recently who said, "writing is what you've done after you've thought." Which is lovely and ludicrous as a job description. Another writer wrote about how fundamentally, writing is a very selfish profession, always asking everyone to pay attention to your view of the world, to what you have to say, and why they should listen to you.

I wouldn't even bother writing if I didn't care deeply about what I have to say, and that's what makes it so hard to weather criticism - I put my guts on the line, and sometimes people hate it. It's difficult not to take it personally. Sometimes people mean it to be personal.

If writing is what you do after thinking, and my writing isn't always good or right, then perhaps my thinking is wrong. I'm sure that it is at times. In fact, more and more I question my thinking. I think I am changing and beginning to see that a lot of the ideas and beliefs I have are only a reaction to a previous set of ideas and beliefs I had which I decided weren't good enough. I imagine this happens continuously throughout anyone's life, but there is zero gravity in between. Who am I if I don't know what I think? And how can I write with confidence if I can not think with confidence?

I want to write, but I'm having a hard time.

{image source unknown}

Inspiration & Anxiety

I feel a little stuck right now. These are two things I've been pondering.

Anxiety seems to be the vogue ailment these days, and I don't say that to belittle people suffering from anxiety, but these terms do seem to trend, which is kind of odd. At least in my circles, people are less depressed or gluten intolerant than they were 10 and 2 years ago respectively, but there's a lot of talk of anxiety. I find myself describing myself as anxious too. It's true, there are things I am anxious about at times.

For me, anxiety is this foggy feeling of unease. I'll have this urge to go through the files in my brain and put my finger on everything in my life that might be causing this unease, so that I can feel a moment of acute awareness or remembrance or pain. If I can hold it, then maybe I can resolve it.

Perhaps anxiety is just the new way of saying depression?



It's the knowledge that things are changing without my permission, but I don't know the details yet.

It's the feeling of not quite fitting in.

It's the feeling of wasted time, in the midst of business.

It's the feeling of being far away, and not being sure whether I want to exercise my way back into the sunlight.

It's the feeling of wanting to be different, but not caring enough to grow.

It's teeth on edge.

It's the feeling of finding out things you knew along, but don't like.

It's a romance with a phantom.

It's my soul flame threatening to snuff out. "A mouth full of blood."

As melodramatic as it sounds, it's the feeling of summer turning into fall.

I get this picture in my head of the Native Americans, and how in tune they were/are with nature. They probably would have thought it completely natural to have your body and psyche become ill or have an uncomfortable shedding of the skin as the seasons change and the world dies again and the skies storm up but never rain. It's the time of year in which I'm most aware of my emptiness.

If you'd told me 8 years ago that it would take me 10 years to graduate from college, I'd have punched you in the face. I'm pretty sure I will manage to finish by the end of 2017, and recently I got hit with a bit of senior, uh"anxiety", for lack of a better word. I suddenly feel like I'm running out of time to figure out what to do with my life. Not that that has to be decided all at once (I'm a firm believer that it shouldn't be a one-time decision), but none the less, I'm walking around under a bunch of question marks.

When it comes to Inspiration, I'm not sure whether it's really separate from anxiety to me. Or rather, the presence of one is the absence of the other. Nothing feels interesting to me right now. None of the things that I generally feel passionate about seem able to call me or grip me. I like that almost manic state of having your head full of too many ideas to focus on. Instead, I want to pour myself into something but can't seem to find anything that makes me want to get up. Cooking and getting dressed are two things that are often really fun for me, but recently, they're just chores.

Isn't this picture strange and beautiful? Someone was selling it as part of an album on Instagram a while ago and I didn't buy the whole album, but they kindly sent me a scan of this one because it sunk its teeth deep into...something... in me. I have so many questions. I want to write about it but I'm afraid that whatever I can make up will not do it justice or will stay unfinished forever, like most of my work.

I know this post is a little bit dark. Feelings pass and circumstances change. Philippians 4:6-7
6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

The weirdness of the world entangles me, but the Peace of God, when we uncover it, transcends all understanding. Strange things. Beautiful things. 

Garden of Eden - The Skinny on the Schooling

(part 3 of 5. image details here)


Dear Art, please don't think I'm cheating on you; you'll always be a cornerstone in my heart....


As I gear up for Middle Eastern Studies, I've struggled at times with "leaving" art behind. I've pretty much always been moving in that direction and I know I'll never stop being an artist, but it was beginning to gnaw at me that art doesn't... save the world. Sometimes I disagree with that statement, but I was frustrated by how much art there is in the world and my own tendency to brush by it or appreciate it for a moment and then forget about it. I want to be part of something with a larger impact, and when it comes down to it, I know that art will always be a thread in the chord of anything I choose to do.


I have been noticing that as soon as I got serious about going back to school, I suddenly found a lot of other things to occupy my time. I feel like I'm savoring my summer, even though I haven't been in school for what feels like ages (roughly a year and a half).

I realized this summer that all my peers were done with college, and some are moving on to their Master's degrees. All of a sudden, I felt left behind! I feel simultaneously like I've been in school for ages and that I've never been to "real" school. My schooling history is a little bit "kittywompus" - I'll skip the early years (you're welcome) and get right to the fall of 2008, when I started attending Allan Hancock College, a junior college here in Santa Maria. After 3 years there, I'd finished my general education and didn't have a plan for what to do next. In 2009, I had been accepted to the Savannah College of Art and Design with scholarships, but still didn't have enough money to go (and didn't want to leave Jonas). Toward the end of my time at Hancock, I was gearing up to start a 2 year apprenticeship with PCPA (Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts) in Technical Theater, but backed out of that too, knowing that I wanted to marry Jonas and not wanting to try and start a marriage right before or get married in the middle of an 80-hour week program. I'd be lying if I said it isn't frustrating at times not to be further in my schooling or career, but I wouldn't trade my husband for any of it, and that was the right choice for me, both then and now. It was also really important to me not to go into debt, which was another hang-up. I've been working part time (sometimes full-time) for 3 years now, which has gone a long way to saving up for school.

The first thing I can ever remember wanting to do "when I grew up" was be a doctor, but by the time I was actually looking into college, art had sunk its' nails into my heart. My first ever intended major was Fashion, then Graphic Design (quickly moved on after job shadowing someone), then Painting, then Journalism (discouraged by the death groans of an industry, though I do believe it is simply in the process of rebirth), then Culinary school, then Mixed Media & Installation Art / Technical Theater (also didn't like it after getting a little bit of experience), then Fibers, then Urban Planning (too technical and I got tired of explaining what it was - maybe I didn't really know myself), then Costume Design. I was talking with FIDM (the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising) in L.A. when I found out I was pregnant. I quickly realized (after crying a lot, haha) that I didn't want my schooling and career to interfere with raising a child (costume design is an all consuming industry built for workaholics). Then I was miserable for a few months, with no idea what I wanted to do (and very disheartened with I realized that in academia, studying "Literature" means getting a degree in English, essentially) and then put two and two together with my growing fire for human rights and my old love for my other home. Thus, we arrive at Middle Eastern Studies.

If you haven't inferred as much thus far, it's hard for me to stay passionate about the same thing for very long.  I realize more and more that I am a big-picture person, and it's really difficult for me to stay motivated through-out an entire process to see the end result, let alone slog through all the trial and error that it takes to make truly great work. I know I need to become more balanced when it comes to my style of working. Not that it's bad to be an idea generator and a grandiose dreamer, but I know that at some point, to succeed, you have to put the leg work in.

Ok, now for some details about the school I'm actually planning to attend now. I don't actually know for sure when I'll start - I've started the orientation process, but haven't completed the financial assessments and am not sure what my schedule will look like after our son is born. I may end up going at a snail's pace, but that's better than going nowhere.

Middle Eastern Studies is actually not a very common major, all things considered. And the way things are now, we need the benefits of Jonas's full time job, as well as for me to be able to continue working part time and be home a lot to take care of our son. I started looking into online school because I don't want to put our son into daycare and Jonas would be working too much to be available to watch our baby if I were taking classes at a psychical campus. In fact, we'll probably end up living in Santa Maria for longer than we had initially planned (we were talking about moving to L.A. after Christmas) since we won't be moving closer to a school just yet. Once I finish school, somewhere over the rainbow, Jonas will go back to school and finish up his degree (which is Illustration, most of the time ;)). Studying art has always seemed to me to be something you need to do in a psychical setting, as a side note. Hopefully we can find a way to pull that off when Jonas goes back, and that's yet another reason that I've finally moved away from the fine arts as a career (for now at least - I see myself as one of those people who will have multiple careers).

All that said, pretty much the only option was American Public University. As excited as I am to have the show on the road again and have a vision, this choice is kind of humbling to me (sorry, APUS). I love being in a classroom (I did most of high school on line) and I take stock in the name of a school. I've always turned up my nose at schools who advertise on Facebook, etc., and cater toward students who are in my situation (though APUS is legit and well accredited, for the record). I know that that is wrong and foolish, but there's part of me that wants to make excuses for not being at Berkeley or SCAD or Reed or Harvard. I wanted everyone to see that I could make it in schools like that and I wanted businesses to be impressed when they saw where I graduated from, and I guess this path that I'm on instead is taking me down a notch. It's funny when your life doesn't turn out like you imagined. I guess it probably never does.

Furthermore, APUS was started by the military (I'm doing the civilian branch) which is not an affiliation I ever imagined myself adhering to. I don't mean these confessions on my part to be disrespectful to the military or anyone who goes to school online or goes to a school that doesn't have a fancy name. My mom is getting her master's degree on line in a very rigorous program and I'm really proud of her and I'm very grateful for the men and women who serve our country through the military. These circumstances just wouldn't have been my first choice, I guess. I'm still trying to change directions in my heart and mind toward making raising my son my number one priority. 

One aspect of studying MES at APUS that I'm very curious about is the fact that they teach things like "Weapons of Mass Destruction Preparedness" and "Terrorism Studies." At one point, I saw those types of studies categorized with MES rather than Asian Studies, European Studies, etc. I'm a little nervous about being taught through a lens which I'm studying MES to try and eradicate, but the courses look standard, so I'm not panicking yet. It should be quite interesting, one way or another. Some other random facts; 1. Although the school is exclusively online, their offices are in Virginia and West Virginia. 2. I will almost definitely be learning Arabic. I don't know how I'm going to do that online with no one to talk to. Ok, well, that was 2 facts, haha.

Hang with me, I only have a little bit left to cover here. Mainly, people have been asking me what kind of career I'm planning to have with a major in MES. First off, at this point, I'm not really interested in living in the Middle East later in life. My focus is really more on the U.S.'s opinion of the Middle East. That said, I'm sure that an adequate understanding of Middle Eastern culture does require time spent there and I won't shy away from that. I'd particularly like to visit Morocco and Istanbul, from a tourism point of view if nothing less. But fear not (or fear highly, perhaps), I'm into trekking the back "woods" of Pakistan and Afghanistan and what not. With my husband and my baby. God loves those people and those places and so do I. And so should you. Two blog installments from now, I'm going to try and not be political or confrontational and tell you all about what I love (food, fashion, landscape, customs, etc.) about this magical and eons-old region.

As for what career options a MES major could lead to, I haven't officially looked that up, but to me it seems endless. The main categories in my mind are consulting (being a cultural guide for businesses or governments or organizations that deal with the Middle East), human rights (immigration, refugees, foreign aid, state-side politics/community education, non-profit organizations), writing (reporting, memoirs, freelance) and awesome stuff (cooking, crying, art, being in a righteous rage).

If you've made it down this far, I appreciate it. Especially since I usually skim over other people's personal ramblings. I'm writing this partly to answer questions people ask me, but perhaps even more than that, to give myself something to look back on and ground myself with why I care and why I'm doing what I'm doing and to laugh at how foolish I can be and congratulate myself on any progress I may make. It's crazy to be young, wouldn't you say?

Garden of Eden - The Vision

(Part 2 of 5 - click here to jump to part 1. Images via here)

Now I want to write a bit more about why this is important to me, which I separate from the aforementioned events that put me on this road in the first place. In short, my vision and drive for this whole choice to continue my studies with the object of getting my bachelor's in Middle Eastern Studies. I think that especially at my age, it's hard to be certain of what a life calling looks like. I tend toward the mindset of "do what you're good at because you're good at it for a reason." I totally believe that God gifts different people differently and also puts different issues on different hearts. I'm surprised that this whole Middle Eastern thing didn't occur to me before, because it seems so obvious now. I can't say that I came to the conclusion that this is what I should be doing in a very spiritual way, but now that it's sort of panning out this way, it just feels like it fits perfectly, and to me, that's as much of a sign as any that it's the right way to go. I've changed my mind about what to study many times before and I suppose it's a possibility that I'll lose my fervor over this issue and think it wasn't meant to be after all, but after really struggling with thoughts of a career in art for a long time (I'll write more about that in the next post), Middle Eastern studies finally feels like the right thing at the right time that plays to my strengths and my passions. It's fabulous to be excited and have a direction to go in and not feel like I'm settling for something just for the sake of finishing a degree., because it sure felt like that's what I was going to end up doing, for a while.

Anyway, on to "the vision". By "vision", I mean less what I plan do with with this major (again, next post) but more why I feel like this choice finally clicked in all the right ways. Sometimes I'm afraid of how intensely I feel about this subject and I know I can be pulled toward an extreme in almost any situation just out of a desire to be provocative. I won't deny that part of studying the Middle East appeals to me for that reason, but I don't think it's unreasonable to say that I've also been prepared for this in the last few years and of course during my childhood, even if I didn't realize it until recently.

Seriously, if you want to make me angry, you need do nothing less than say something ignorant, irreverent or bigoted about anything having to do with Islam or the Middle East. I want to make it clear that as much as I adore this region, I don't condone all their customs, attitudes and/or behaviors and religion. What does boil my blood is people saying foolish, angry and unfair things about something they don't understand. Actually, I don't think there's an excuse for that behavior even if you do understand the reality of things. If I could heal all the rends between Western and Eastern cultures by sheer love of my subject, man, the world would be rainbows and butterflies all over. 


Ok, so to actually state my vision... what I want to do is essentially educate and re-educate Americans to understand and respect countries and cultures that are currently unjustly treated with prejudice because of political issues. The more I can show the divide between a handful of politicians and armies on both sides and the reality of day-to-day lives and culture of the people of each region, the more compassion available, in my thinking. I don't always know what to think of what goes on politically and don't often understand it, but I do think I am in a position to be an ambassador and a bridge between humans on each side. I'm actually not particularly interested in peace-rallying or things of that nature. I think the current wars/terrorism is the basis of fear and hatred between the East and West, but I'm less concerned with the politics of war and peace as I am with facilitating proper perceptions across cultural divides. Particularly in the America to Middle East direction. 

One thing that I'm already struggling with is my anger. I feel justified in being angry at people who say ridiculous and hurtful things about people and places they are conditioned to fear and mistrust, but I know that the whole situation is full of enough hatred and anger already and that people don't respond to being told what idiots they are. It's hard to walk the line between cultures - it's hard to talk about the Middle East with any compassion or understanding and not be branded a "sympathizer" with terrorists. Obviously, it's my goal to do away with that reaction in the first place - not just for my sake, but for what that attitude symbolizes. It's hard to be trustworthy in the eyes of someone who is against what my heart burns for. But that's really the whole point; to bridge the gap. Now what I need is the grace to be something other than a rabid chihuahua who is straining to be released on a land of "blind people". I know I need to stay away from the us vs. them scenario, especially when I want to put myself in the "them" category just to be gritty and poignant and different. Sometimes I also sit back and think I must be a naive fool to think that anyone will listen to me about any of these issues with the "credentials" that I do and will have. I wonder if people will consider a love and a heritage tied to the Middle East as having any authority in the face of war and politics. I get it, if you think that that won't cut it. But I still need to try. And I need to try not to do it out of my own strength alone.

Apart from modifying thinking toward the Middle East, I really want to advocate fair treatment of Middle Eastern refugees and immigrants in the United States. First of all, it's offensive and needless to lump everyone from the Eastern hemisphere into 3 main ethnicities; Chinese, Japanese and Korean are not remotely the same and they take great offense at being confused. Indians are not from the Middle East, and the Middle East is not just one country. "If you don't like it here or don't want to be like us, go back to your country," is not a valid argument either, sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry. That's just a rude attitude. I know it's not easy for everyone to distinguish between different nationalities, but it isn't polite to assume that they're all from the same country. Also, it's so important to remember that every American is an immigrant from somewhere or the descendant of immigrants (with the exception of Native Americans). It only makes sense to treat new people seeking refuge with dignity and respect like you would like to be treated if you uprooted your entire life to try and make a better go of things in a strange country. I hope I am not digressing into rants here. I really think it is of the most basic importance that immigrants be treated with respect.

One final thing I want to touch on in relation to my vision and my justifications for why I should be pouring myself into this is 9/11. I know that especially for my generation, 9/11 was some of the first exposure that American citizens had to the idea of Islam and the Middle East as a whole. Or more practically, it suddenly became a point on the radar that may not have been there before. I think it's entirely logical and understandable to be hurt on many levels by that tragedy and I think it's reasonable to be angry at the injustice of it. Obviously, I feel like things went awry when understandable hurt about terrorism turns to blind hatred of an entire school of nations and/or people of the same race as terrorists but with no affiliation whatsoever. Sometimes I wish I had been in the U.S. for 9/11 so that I could better identify with the feeling of nationalism and solidarity that arose afterward. I am, after all, from America, and contrary to what some of my opinions may seem to demonstrate, I love my country.

At the same time, I know there was a reason for me being on the other side of things at that time and witnessing a very different angle of 9/11. As my mom remembers it, many Muslims in areas of rural Pakistan and China around where we lived didn't even realize that a war was starting, nor who Osama bin Laden or Sadam Hussain was. That's kind of an illustration of the entire point I'm trying to convey.

Once again, thank you for reading and I do sincerely hope that I don't sound like a raving lunatic. Like I said, I'm very sensitive on all of these issues, but I also want to learn and grow and calm down when I need to. That said, if you disagree with me, have questions, or have suggestions on how I can be more relatable or  compassionate in my delivery, please do let me know. (Next up, specifics about the actual impending schooling).

Garden of Eden - In The Beginning

In her novel Crescent, Diana Abu-Jaber writes, "When we leave our home, we fall in love with our sadness." When I read that, my heart knew very much what it meant, and that was a resonating point in some life decisions that followed. // As most of you know, Jonas & I are having a son in October. This little bundle of joy was an unexpected blessing and we can't wait to meet him, but he also threw off some previous plans. I've been out of school for about a year and half now, and have decided to go back and finish a degree in Middle Eastern Studies. This is a choice full of history and meaning for me and one that I am already getting some questions about from friends and family, so I've decided to write a 5 part series (because I'm just that serious about it :)) explaining what I'm up to.

Again, most of you know that I grew up in Central Asia, where my parents were missionaries. We spent 13 years in Western China, in a province with a large Muslim culture and community. For several years, we lived a few miles from the border of China and Pakistan. Most people conjure up images of rice patties and pandas when they think of China (including me, at times), but I just wanted to explain that despite being in China, Middle Eastern culture actually played a huge role in my childhood and that can fairly be put as where this all started. It wasn't really until after I moved back to the United States at 16 that consuming sadness for "home" started to become dear to me and I began to focus on what I had left behind. I'll write more about my vision in all of this in the next installment, but for now I'm going to detail 3 specific incidents that strongly pointed me in direction I'm now headed. 

My husband (then-boyfriend) Jonas and I took a geology class together several years ago and went on a week-long field trip through the Californian desserts & Sierra mountains with our constantly high (?!) professor. Good times. But anyway, on the way home, we stopped by Camp Manzanar, which is now a museum which stands on the grounds of what was essentially an internment camp for Japanese-Americans during World War 2. I remember reading a story about this part of American history in grade school, but kind of forgot about it until this trip. Honestly, hardly anyone talks about this incident and it seems to me that very few people are even aware of it. Walking through the museum and seeing photos and hearing stories about how unfairly we treated our own citizens because of something people from their countries of heritage  did really struck me and it's been important to me ever since. Some of my extended family was involved in sending Japanese-Americans to camps, so it's extra tied up in my heart. I know this may not seem obviously related to the Middle East, but when I see some of what's going on in our country today as far as general sentiment toward people of Middle Eastern descent, this other piece of American comes quickly to the forefront of my mind.

A second thing that really motivated me dive into Middle Eastern Studies was a conversation with my husband, probably about travel. He said something to the affect of being interested or feeling excitement or inspiration from most parts of the globe, but had no real draw to the Middle East. There's nothing wrong with that, but it awakened something in me that now wants desperately to share all that I love and find fascinating and beautiful about that region of the world. Small, but powerful.

Finally, something some of you have probably heard about if you've spent any amount of face-to-face time with me in the past several months. I listen to a lot of podcast, including "the show for people who love to eat," The Splendid Table. Several months ago, the host interviewed a guy from this little project called Conflict Kitchen. Basically, this art professor (can you tell, I love this?) decided to open a little take-out stand that only serves cuisine from countries that the U.S. is in conflict with. Bloody brilliant, and I'm so bummed we don't have this on the West coast yet. In time, my chickadees, I may just open one myself. Anyway, they serve this delicious food, wrapped in custom paper printed with interviews with people of the country whose food they're serving. They cover a range of topics - not just politics that have to do with America and said country.

The reasons I go gaga for this are a) I love ethnic food and b) to me, this is what our culture needs in terms of international relations; grassroots re-education and evaluation of other cultures; a lens through which to realize that the people of countries that you may or may not agree with politically are  human, just like you and I. This is not a save-the-world approach, but something that's doable in our own home-towns, and frankly, I think that's where change should start. I realize that this sort of idea doesn't exactly affect foreign policy or bring down dictators or any number of very important things. But what I think it CAN begin to do is change the hearts and minds of every day people, who - I'll be darned - just may grow up to lead our nation and have great sway with other nations.

So, there you have the beginnings. I do hope you'll stick around for subsequent installments. I realize that these issues are ultra important to me because they're MY convictions, but I totally believe that some of the points I'm going to bring up are something YOU should be greatly concerned with as well. {all photos via here}

66

Towering above me, seemingly reaching the lower layers of atmosphere, loomed the giant concrete speedway, not unlike the top tier of a major highway overpass. And yet, the sharpness of it's angel upon descent was such that it was altogether unearthly and seemed dangerous, even to think of it. The skies all around were swathed in shades of grey, with massive brushstrokes of orange grapefruit, which filtered through the light to cast a post-apocalyptic glow on harsh lines of naked, raw industrial forms. Despite the air of calamity, the crowd, myself among them, shivered with thrill as the racers pounded down the colossal ramp, knees held together with fierce concentration, backs arched, and elbows tucked for maximum speed. It was magnificent, and not a little fun, to watch them, for from where I stood, my vision was obscured by the lip of the racetrack, just as it turned sharply in the course. Because of this, it looked as if each racer simply dropped away into nothingness at breakneck speed, one after another. Adrenaline galloped through my blood as the pack neared the turn once more and I anticipated their quick disappearance. There was once figure in particular that I sought out among the racers. I was invested in him, as an old friend, and my excitement mounted as I caught sight of him and shared a sliver of his exhilaration. The front of the pack sped past the curve and out of my sight, and now, the middle was nearly gone as well. But what was this! My friend, my racer, he made no turn, and instead headed straight toward me with the intensity of a bullet. In a fraction of a moment, he covered the distance between the larger-than-life track and myself, somehow unaffected by the severe curve of the track which he must have had to traverse in order to fly in so straight a line toward me. His concentration was unbroken and his face showed no sign of comprehension of the dire situation he suddenly found himself in. Indeed, no cry escaped his lips, no wrinkle obstructed his brow as he plummeted - how, I shall never understand - through every metaphysical barrier and landed as a sack of splintered bone and seeping blood on the pavement, possibly 30 feet below. The distance of the fall was unclear to me, only the far away realization that I was running, running, running toward him, skirting great walls of concrete to get to the place where he was. I was first to arrive, followed shortly by a doctor. I cradled him in my arms as his weak breath became silence, and somehow, his form took shape as a stubby doll rather than a human. I too, felt small and hideous, like the stuffed dolls that appear to be full grown, but bare monstrous grins that appeal to no age whatsoever. But I return to the tragedy at hand. The doctor interceded as gently as he could, but soon crouched to the side, seeing there was nothing he could do. There were two figures to my left, trying to console me, but their words seemed meaningless - indeed, they were nothing more than soundbites on airwaves to me, though I could see their concern for me in their drawn faces and gently imploring brows. The events are not very clear to me, all the more for their lack of sense, but I recall screaming and wailing in such a way that is uncharacteristic of my grief. With true and extreme volume, and no regard to the content of my words or whether they may embarrass others or myself among others. I remember such ideas and phrases that expressed my wish that his soul not depart, but stay with me and not leave me. Over and over I repeated my pleas, even as he was unable to speak and appeared obviously to lose his life. What rings in my memory most clearly is my own voice, screaming with all my strength, "This is heaven! This is heaven!" There is no more to my tale; here it ends. Only that I had a vague sensation, yes, a sensation, of the number 66. I can make no meaning of this thought. Perhaps you, reader, may derive your own conclusions....


Such was my dream in the early morning of December the 9th, 2011. From which I awoke in a fever and realized only later how disturbing the details. 

Oh Baby

I'll be frank - I'm very stoked about a no-boundaries-marriage, but not so much a boundless supply of babies. Considering the advancements in science and technology available to us today, it's almost stunning to me that there aren't any great options. In a sense, I feel like it's fitting that humans have been unable to trick the cycle of life without serious drawbacks - in my mind it's almost a comical twin to the pain-in-childbirth curse. It's incredibly frustrating to me that everyone is convinced about their own knowledge of birth control, yet not everyone (or anyone?) can be right because they all contradict each other. Why is it so hard to admit that based on history, it's entirely possible that we have no idea what we're doing in the realm of birth control? Honestly, stop quoting "evidence" you personally know nothing about. 
I'm envious of our children who may have methods available to them that I've read about (currently in the 10+ year testing trials) but will be much too late for us. But then again, will those methods turn out to be less than optimal as well? I'm not saying I believe that various forms of birth control aren't effective, but just consider what we sacrifice by using them: no birth control/"natural planning" = babies, additional hormones (from plants and horses - who thought this was a good idea?) which by definition can alter what "you" means, not to mention decreased libido in women among other why-the-hell-would-I-ever-agree-to-that symptoms. Barrier methods = um, just doesn't always seem to be timely, shall we say, and why would someone want to settle for less than the full experience? I realize I'm being picky, but this honestly bothers me. 
As I struggle to come to some sort of satisfactory conclusion with my fiance, I have the added element of ethics. From what I've heard, all forms of birth control (excluding barrier methods) alter the lining of the uterus so that on the [granted, minuscule] off chance that an egg were to be fertilized, it would severely decrease the chances of it latching on inside the womb. I believe that human life begins at the moment of conception, so knowingly doing anything to my body that would prohibit a fertilized egg from living is an early abortion in my eyes. I personally know people who've gotten pregnant while using these methods I'm referring to, so I know that taking/using them will not always prevent pregnancy or effectively end the life of a teeny human, but it still boggles my mind that either a) women whom I respect and love either didn't do enough research into something rather weighty in their lives to realize that the potential consequences of their actions or b) know that their choice may affect the life of their child and just choose to ignore that disturbing thought. Am I being unfair? For once, I'm of the old lady school of thought. 
Just to clarify, I have heard that the body naturally doesn't accept all fertilized eggs onto the lining so that a fetus continues to grow, but I see a clear distinction between natural miscarriages (whether the mother is ever even aware) and consciously choosing something that MIGHT endanger the life of a conceived being. A mother may never know that a fertilized egg didn't survive because of the birth control she uses, but I don't think that acquits her of responsibility for a potential she was aware of. I would also like to say that I do not hate women who've had an abortion and I quite quite understand the tragic decision made by many mothers to abort their children because of wretched circumstance in their lives, whether or not I agree with those decisions. I want you reading to know that I'm doing my best to be rational rather than judgmental. These are my opinions, but I will not shy away from the chance to convict someone over something so serious as life and death, especially since my life has been changed by other people who actually verbalized their opinions and thereby essentially guilted me into doing what I knew was right but was too much of a coward to own of my own accord. 
Now what role does God play in this? A little old Catholic lady my fiance and I visited in our was of the opinion that using anything other than "natural planning" (aka counting calender days based on supposed knowledge of how a woman's body works, aka don't have sex when your body wants it most, aka hog wash) was wrong because it was blocking the hand of God. So God wants me to have good sex within marriage and God also wants me to have 24 children? Firstly, we can't support a gaggle of children at the point (probably never, if we had 24) and secondly, is there any obligation to have any number of children considering the earth is now populated and will continue to grow exponentially until hypothetical collapse? Am I just not trusting God to provide for our family? I wish saving sperm for later procreational use and then a snipping was more romantic sounding than it is... Yeah, I just blogged that. 

Karissa & the Real World.

It's been a while. Which is actually a good thing. I feel like the people in my life fulfill all my needs of being heard and I have friends to share good pictures with and ideas. I'm not shutting down this blog, but I'm actually kind of proud that I'm fulfilling my urge to create and inspire and learn in "the real world". I'm still a documentation fiend though, and if you want to see where I'm pouring all my internet time, feel free to follow me on Pinterest. Go ahead, call me a hipster. :) Anyway, thanks for reading, as always, and maybe when I'm a little wife (come January!) I'll get back to blogging? Who's to say? When blogging becomes about updating friends who I don't see often about the life of my fabulous husband and I, then I will feel more efficient writing here. Until then, cheers. {image by Nemanja Knežević}

Peachy

Things I'm stoked on & thankful for:

• Being recruited for PCPA's (the Central Coast's Broadway counterpart) 2-year technical theater program. Technical theater includes set and prop design and construction, lighting, sound technology, costume design and construction, etc.  Very exciting and a good fit for my life right now, but also nerve wracking as I anticipate 65 hour work weeks for that length of time. And just for the sake of name dropping, I would have you know that graduates from the sister acting program include such recognizable names as Kathy Bates, Robin Williams and Zac Efron. When I start the program, I may very well go all silent on the blog front for some time, but hopefully I will be able to blog about some of the experiences every now and then. Speaking of which...
• I started a new Tumblr commemorating my growing-up years in Asia. Please have a look! http://talesofkashmir.tumblr.com/
• Getting to hang out with ladies (and some gents!) from our church small group.  My friend Michelle works across the street from me, so we have lunch once a week. She's really getting me re-excited about writing and poetry. Some of which I may post later....?
• Collaborative art with Jonas. We're shooting for a draw&caption duo like this couple's blog, We Can, except the captioning part may turn into more of a story because Jonas's drawings tend to be hold more visual information than a caption could cover. I'll be posting those as they get going as well. 
• "Friends of Ours" and rock bands that incorporate orchestras. 
• This color scheme. Spring in general. 

A Spring In My Step

I think we just had the first day of spring. I'm not sure, and I doubt it's important.  Sometimes I get these sweet realizations that calm my worried bones. I doubt the budding trees and birdies keep calendar books or sticky notes or write blog posts on the exact days of events. Too nerve wracking to remember all that. We had a dinner guest last night who has recently accepted Christ into his life. I was struck by the excitement that he had about being in the family of Jesus. He said he finds himself smiling for no reason. I want to have that too because our days here are finite and... yes. That's it. We've been going through Lamentations at church, which I'm loving too. I delight in the polarities of rawness and joy. Re-awakenings seem to go right along with spring. And this lovely album. And these lovely photos (1,2,3,4,5). 

2010 In Review

Well, my faithful readers (or browers, or stumble uponers :)), another year has swooshed on by and here I am to sum it up, as it was for me. I decided I would be bored reading the answers (again) to round 3 of my end-of-the-year survey tradition, so I've modified it.  Taking away the boring questions from the previous survey and adding some from Proust/Vanity Fair and some random thing I found on another blog.  I hope you enjoy it and if you decide to fill out one for yourself, please do let me know! See here the sister-posts from 2008 and 2009. {image from beautifulpaper}
People <3
1. What is your idea of a perfect date? Unusal and surprising. Gourmet food, conversations about what we are passionate about, sharing music, hugs and kisses. Also, getting dressed up and smelling good. Getting flowers. 
2. What's your favorite family tradition? After dinner conversations and the scope that they cover. 
3. What are your favorite qualities in a man? Leadership without dictatorship, tenderness, perceptiveness, true love (that's not cheesey if you've experienced it). 
4. What are your favorite qualities in a woman? An unforseen sense of humor, loyalty, knowing when how and where to speak and when not to. 
5. My idea of a good party? 5 people or less! Good food, music and conversation. 
6. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
'08 Agyness Deyn & Obama
'09 Cate Blanchett.
'10 Marion Cottilard. 
7. Who was the best new person you met?
'08 Jns. No question about it.
'09 I’m glad to have met Rocky & the FC kids. 
'10 Bri Augusto. :) 
Looking Back
1.When and where did you learn to ride a bicycle? In Urumqui, China in the summer of 1998, possibly? My dad taught me on an outdoor basketball court. I ran straight into the backs of a group of students sitting on the ground because I couldn't figure out the breaks. 
2.What was the first big purchase you made with your own money? I distinctly remember buying a pack of tic tacs in Thailand at roughly age 10. One of the biggest feeling purchases of my life. 
3.What was the best thing you bought?
'08 Some stunning and impractical additions to my wardrobe, to be sure (cocktail dresses and stilettos all in strikingly uncommon hues ^^). I also joined mp3search.com and have bought loads of good music there. I bought an extraordinary British dictionary from 1912 as a gift which I am rather proud of.
'09 I don’t know what the best thing was. I like to buy beads at Michael’s… that’s not better than other stuff I bought, but I do like them and used them a lot in my mixed media class. 
'10 Tickets to an Imogen Heap concert, some sari fabric, a set of knives for class (my mom actually bought them for me!). Some vintage clothing and rings and dishes.
4. A movie I saw this year that I consider a “keeper.” A Very Long Engagement, Up In The Air, Children of Men, The Social Network, Inception, Inglorious Bastards, New York I love you, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (yes, it was the first time I'd ever seen it). 
5. My favorite place to shop online? I discovered Etsy. No more needs be said. In the store? nothing new worth mentioning, that I recall... 
6.The Year In Music [What song will always remind you of this year?]
'08 Oh man, that is such an unfair question. There are trillions. Definitely ApathyEdge stuff. Jose Gonzalez's "Hand on Your Heart", Dave Matthew's "Crash Into Me", Copeland's "Coffee", Diana Krall's "Case of You", Anberlin's "Dismantle.Repair", John Legend's "Where Did My Baby Go?", Brand New's "Jesus Christ".
'09 DMB’s “Where Are You Going?” Angus & Julia Stone’s “Mango Tree” JJ’s “Baby” Cleast Eatwood’s “Electric Feel” Rachael Yamagata’s “What If I Leave?” John Mark McMillan’s “Carbon Ribs” Joshua Morrison’s “Westport” Owl City’s “Saltwater Room” Jason Derulo’s “Whatcha Say” Train’s “Hey, Soul Sister” Anything by Fever Ray, Noisettes, the Temper Trap, the Notwist, Francis and the Lights or Bon Iver & the soundtracks to Once, the Curious Case of Benjamin Button & Slumdog Millionaire. Discovered: Karen Dalton, Neon Hitch, Francis & the Lights, Coeur de Pirate, Tiny Vipers.
'10 Corinne Bailey Rae's "Are You Here?", Janelle Monet's "Tightrope", soundtrack to Nine, Rachael Yamagata's "Both Sides Now", MGMT's "Electric Feel", Disney songs - Cruella De Vil & Oo De Lally, "Such Great Heights" particularly by Ben Gibbard (?), The Morning Bender's "Excuses", Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero's (?) "Home"... Francois Hardy & Ben Christophers "My Beautiful Demon", anything by Frou Frou, Keane's "Sunshine", Coldplay's "Death and all his friends," Dan Black's "Symphonies", several classics by Nat King Cole, multiple songs from Regina Spektor's album "Far", Snowden's "Anemone Arms". Discovered: WORLD WAR (death by adoration!), CocoRosie, Everything Everything, Rogue Wave, Cat Power.
7.What was the best book you read?
'08 Oh! There were several phenomenal ones! The Last Chinese Chef (Nicole Mones), The Tao of Pooh (Benjamin Hoff), and The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand) will remain some of my favorites forever. I also read lots more Dorothy Sayers (always excellent), Wild Swans, Funny in Farsi... I'm happy to have gotten so many good reads in! I was not impressed with Kafka's Metamorphosis (at... all).
'09 Wicked (Gregory Maguire), Wired Magazine, Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger). 
'10 Son of a Witch and A Lion Among Men (Gregory Maguire), Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand), Perdido Street Station (China Melville) 
8.What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
'08 I turned 17, and it was the first day of *community* college. :) Jonas and Jordan came over and it was awesome.
'09 My parents threw a big 18th birthday-graduation-4th of July weekend in July which was special and hectic ^^. On my actual birthday, Jonas & Jordan came for dinner and I got a full on small desert garden as a gift. 
'10 I turned 19 - A few days early, my coworkers threw me a surprise party. :) I worked and went to school all day but my mom made awesome Vietnamese wraps for dinner and I had a good time with Jonas and the Fam. A few days later, Jonas and Annelise and I went to the Avila farmer's market where Jonas bought me tuberroses that he couldn't get on the day of my birthday. Then, a month later, Jonas and the Fam and I all went up to visit my aunt in Monteray where we cruised the aquarium and town for a day. 
9. How would you describe your personal fashion concept this year?
'08 Oh.. hm. I would say I've been able to solidify a style more, now that I actually have a selection of places to shop from! But I hope that I've remained versatile. I'm enjoying a very odd mixture of Grace Kelly and Janis Joplin.
'09 I wore more color and more patterns and less make up. I’m very much still into classic though, especially the 40s. 
'10 I wore a lot of clashing colors on purpose. Growing my hair out. This years decade was the 50s (that's probably what I meant last year too but it was too new for me to name correctly...?). Gold, blouses, bows. My first every LBD. Jewel tones and rings and necklaces. 
10. Who was your first kiss? My dear Jonas. 
Looking Ahead
1.What goal would you like to accomplish in the next 12 months? Become more involved at Church, land the PCPA interneship and find a job after that, start school at SCAD as a fibers major, and get engaged. :) 5 years? Run a company (or an aspect of it) pertaining to the art-business world, get a pair of cats, have the first of 3 kids with awesome names. 10 years? Help Jonas publish a book, re-visit China & Thailand and visit Sweden, custom build a house (or renevate an old one!). 
2. I hope my children will remember be for my... ability to open their eyes to new wonders each day. 
Just Me
1.When is your mind most stimulated? Walking along city streets and browsing city stores/blogs. Also conversations about art, spirituality, and things people don't know to talk about. 
2.What comes easily to you? Describing things. 
3. Shoes or clothes person? How about "and"... 
4. How has your understanding of religion changed throughout your life? I've come to see how arrogant I have been about it at times and how trying harder doesn't make you feel better.  Right now I'm loving learning to love what I had regarded with disgust because I am learning to see it differently. 
5.What is your favorite color and flower? No favorite color, only favorite combinations (slate grey & navy blue hover at the top, pale pink & gold) and too many favorite flowers to name, but recently I've discovered peonies (could I be any less of a trend monger?). 
6. When I cook, I like to make... something different every time! Wish I knew how to make... anything fried, for starters. 
In a Nutshell, 2010
Do... trust, laugh a lot, keep up with friends, seek out new things, forgive, try roasting brussel sprouts!
Don't...worry!
Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
'08 I'm going to go with Edith Piaf's "La Vie En Rose" - both truthfully and satirically.
'09 The Killer’s “Sam’s Town.”

'10 Jack Johnson's "No Other Way": 

And know that if I knew all of the answers / 

I would not hold them from you'd-d'k

now all the things that i'd know. 

May 2011 be full of joy.