On the 30th of December, 2010, I stood on the windy winter beach and hurled my voice Southward across the sea. I don't think it got very far; my lungs throw like a girl. But the water was like silkily shattering glass: green, smooth & sharp. Gulls flew past me every now & again, low over the water - as if they thought I was shouting into the sky like they do, so didn't mind my presence. It was a shame, I thought, that there was no one to photograph the scene, as my pink sweater would have made a nice contrast with the colors of sand, sky and sea. It was a perfect moment. I fit, like a piece in a puzzle, into the scene.
Not so with my family. I am realizing that, no matter how well I think I know them, I am operating out my knowledge of them in the past. Sometimes that works great. Other times it perpetuates past hurts. I also realized that part of the reason I have more fun with my friends than with my family is that with friends, I try to. It felt really weird to figure that out, 'cause I knew it, but was somehow too lethargic to do anything about it. I just lay on my back staring at the ceiling fan while my mother and sister argued about where to go to dinner and my dad stormed out to "get the car ready" - really to cool his head. And this was supposed to be our family time, where we enjoyed one another's company. We just... none of us were excited about it. We didn't expect to entertain each other, or to laugh with one another. All we saw - all we generally see - is the tensions and habitual arguments and pains that we go through/put one another through. And all I managed to do about it was stare at a ceiling fan.
The yearly family beach vacation was mostly like that paragraphs above. The beach was its fantastic, magical, natural, beautiful - you get the picture - self. It even gave such an abundance of shells that even my grandmother, who has been going to that same beach for a good forty or so years, was all astonishment. We found more of these puppies than we cared to count, in all sizes, from 2-3 mm long to 8-9 cm long. I mean, that shit was crazy. Not to mention some of these, these, these, and plenty of these. Then the family bit was more along the lines of the second paragraph. Familiar, mostly friendly, but with the usual crazy floating just underneath, just suppressed in honor of the words "beach" and "vacation". I learned a lot about my family. Coming back and looking at it from a more grown up perspective... I learn more every time. I now know that what my family calls crazy and impossible is more like lonely and helpless - although sometimes, I grant you, it's manipulative and controlling. It just depends on the degree.
Sigh. Anyway. There's more to say, but I just remembered I wanted to read something before tonight's new years' party.
Remind me to talk about vanity & comfort, ok? Here's a teaser trailer:
If being girly means vanity, selfishness, and wantonly spending money, I want none of it. I will proudly be un-girly. I would much rather be ladylike.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Blue Pelicans and other Seabirds
So. Today we went to the beach. I thought you should see why this blog is called pelicans and other seabirds. :P
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Typical
A typical night at the Obfuscation family house:
In the corner of the kitchen/dining/livingroom closest to the door, my father, working on the computer and watching TV on the internet.
In the corner with the most windows, opposite my father, my mother, watching TV on the intenet.
In the corner with the comfiest couch, my sister, checking facebook and watching TV on the internet.
I can tell they probably do this 75% of all the days in a week. And me? I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, blogging and waiting for it to be 8 already so I can get out of the house to somewhere where there is the sound of people talking to each other and enjoying one another's company. Sheesh. Has anyone heard of human interaction? Have I?
over 'n out.
E.O.
In the corner of the kitchen/dining/livingroom closest to the door, my father, working on the computer and watching TV on the internet.
In the corner with the most windows, opposite my father, my mother, watching TV on the intenet.
In the corner with the comfiest couch, my sister, checking facebook and watching TV on the internet.
I can tell they probably do this 75% of all the days in a week. And me? I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, blogging and waiting for it to be 8 already so I can get out of the house to somewhere where there is the sound of people talking to each other and enjoying one another's company. Sheesh. Has anyone heard of human interaction? Have I?
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Wistful
Let me start out by saying: I am happy with my life. Happier than I've been with it in a long, long time. Happier than I was when my sister and I still called Europe "home".
There are days though. Days like this, around the holidays, when all my TCK friends are talking about flying home- to Wien, to Luxembourg, to Bourg d'Oisans- and about going to Christkindlmarkt's. On those days, part of me wishes that I could fly home for the holidays, home to my Europe.
Yesterday I went to a choral performance with my roommate. We got there early, and as we waited we looked around the church where it was being held. There was a smallish wooden nativity scene there, with a few carved figurines, a bit of dried grass, and a wood hut to house them. The wood was beautiful and all, but I was struck, when I saw it, with an emotion I did not expect: disappointment. And a bit of disdain, too. I missed the elaborate Belens of Catalunya. So, to make the memory come to life before my own eyes, I started to describe it to my roommate, whose face lit up with the very wonder I had hoped for.
So though I have come to terms with the fact that going home to my parents means a twenty-minute drive into the suburbs of the city, there are some things I reserve the right to miss; like the streets of Europe at Christmastime.
(to see some examples of what I'm talking about, search "Belen navidad" in google images.)
over 'n out.
E.O.
There are days though. Days like this, around the holidays, when all my TCK friends are talking about flying home- to Wien, to Luxembourg, to Bourg d'Oisans- and about going to Christkindlmarkt's. On those days, part of me wishes that I could fly home for the holidays, home to my Europe.
Yesterday I went to a choral performance with my roommate. We got there early, and as we waited we looked around the church where it was being held. There was a smallish wooden nativity scene there, with a few carved figurines, a bit of dried grass, and a wood hut to house them. The wood was beautiful and all, but I was struck, when I saw it, with an emotion I did not expect: disappointment. And a bit of disdain, too. I missed the elaborate Belens of Catalunya. So, to make the memory come to life before my own eyes, I started to describe it to my roommate, whose face lit up with the very wonder I had hoped for.
So though I have come to terms with the fact that going home to my parents means a twenty-minute drive into the suburbs of the city, there are some things I reserve the right to miss; like the streets of Europe at Christmastime.
(to see some examples of what I'm talking about, search "Belen navidad" in google images.)
over 'n out.
E.O.
Monday, December 13, 2010
activity wish list
...aaaaaand DONE. No more school for me! For almost an entire month! =)
I haven't had this much free time in... um.... a year? I think? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it has happened. I do not have a job over Christmas break. What to do?! There are at least twenty days for which I have absolutely nothing planned. I am looking forward with twinges of excitement, dread, curiosity, worry, relief, and... well, a bunch of other things too.
Hello holidays! Come, vacation, let's you and me talk... =)
I want to:
-family: including babysitting, but also hanging with the adults. Maybe I'll take Aunt A Christmas shopping or something....
-Christmas presents for: roommate, nuclear family, one person from extended family
I haven't had this much free time in... um.... a year? I think? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it has happened. I do not have a job over Christmas break. What to do?! There are at least twenty days for which I have absolutely nothing planned. I am looking forward with twinges of excitement, dread, curiosity, worry, relief, and... well, a bunch of other things too.
Hello holidays! Come, vacation, let's you and me talk... =)
I want to:
- Hang out with
-family: including babysitting, but also hanging with the adults. Maybe I'll take Aunt A Christmas shopping or something....
- Make my cooking 10x better.
- Keep my house relatively clean. (GET THE DRYER FIXED ALREADYYYYY)
- Go shopping for:
-Christmas presents for: roommate, nuclear family, one person from extended family
- Find ways to decorate my house/finish up the decorations I already have planned. (make it look really lived in, you know?)
- Take some AMAZING pictures for the last few days of the 365 project (and not miss any more days, lol)
- Explore the city I've lived in for so many(ish) years and still don't know very well.
- Spend as little money as possible.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
rediscoveries
...and so, we incorporate the old parts of our lives in with the new. This is as it should be. Allow me to explain my progression.
When I was ten or eleven, my sister got her ears pierced. I didn't really want to follow suit until my mom (secretly encouraging me, I think) showed me some of her old earrings. Among the others I spotted them. Blue snowflakes painted on white ceramic studs. I thought they were the most beautiful earrings I could ever imagine wearing. So I asked to get my ears pierced, so that I could. My mom tried to explain that I wouldn't be able to wear them for a long time, but I didn't care. I asked if I could have them, for when my ears healed and I could wear them, and my mom, being the kind soul she is, said yes.
It was awful. I did everything that the person at the pharmacy had told me to (that's where silly little girls who didn't get their ears pierced before they left the hospital go, when they're in Spain) but they just would. NOT. heal. Not all the way. There were constantly alternating streams of blood, gunk, and gore coming out of my poor earlobes. After... I think six months? - something like that - I abandoned the attempt and allowed them to grow over, for years. The one or two pairs that my parents had bought me over Christmas, in anticipation, were put away, along with the beautiful snowflake earrings.
Fast-forward to college. I finally decided that, in order to look more like a grown-up (since apparently my face tends to fool people into thinking I'm a babe in arms), I needed to get my ears re-pierced - which I did. And, bolstered by assurances of the piercing girl that if I just refrained from bathing my earlobes in irritants like alcohol (which the pharmacist had told me to do... silly), I slogged through the salt-water baths and some very swollen periods, and minor infections that turned one earlobe grey, until finally my body gave up and graciously healed over into some very nice holes. Meanwhile, I became entranced with earrings: especially ones that dangled. In my opinion, if it didn't swing, it wasn't worthwhile, and I amassed a nice little collection. I did find the old earrings, but as I didn't much care for studs, I just transferred them onto a card along with some other odds and ends so they would all stay together and put them away again.
Fast-forward to now. Tonight, I re-discovered those old snowflakes. I realize now that though my ten-year-old self loved them truly, they're really not that spectacular. More importantly, I discovered a pair of gold knots that my parents got for me that Christmas, years ago. They are perfect, and very pretty and I intend to enjoy them immensely.
Interestingly, or grossly (you might even say symbolically), they still had gunk on them from when I tried to wear them the first time around, so I got to wash them clean.
And I guess what I'm saying is that it feels nice to take the good parts of our past, dust them off, and make them part of our selves and our lives as we go. With the incorporation, the memory is revived. My parents supported my goals in life, and they bought me a gift to show me that they loved me. So what if I didn't get to use it 'til years later? They're not just random thing I thought was pretty and bought at Target - they're not empty like that. They are earrings that my mother saw and liked and thought would look good on her daughter. I remember her telling me so.
This story is as it should be.
over 'n out.
E.O.
When I was ten or eleven, my sister got her ears pierced. I didn't really want to follow suit until my mom (secretly encouraging me, I think) showed me some of her old earrings. Among the others I spotted them. Blue snowflakes painted on white ceramic studs. I thought they were the most beautiful earrings I could ever imagine wearing. So I asked to get my ears pierced, so that I could. My mom tried to explain that I wouldn't be able to wear them for a long time, but I didn't care. I asked if I could have them, for when my ears healed and I could wear them, and my mom, being the kind soul she is, said yes.
It was awful. I did everything that the person at the pharmacy had told me to (that's where silly little girls who didn't get their ears pierced before they left the hospital go, when they're in Spain) but they just would. NOT. heal. Not all the way. There were constantly alternating streams of blood, gunk, and gore coming out of my poor earlobes. After... I think six months? - something like that - I abandoned the attempt and allowed them to grow over, for years. The one or two pairs that my parents had bought me over Christmas, in anticipation, were put away, along with the beautiful snowflake earrings.
Fast-forward to college. I finally decided that, in order to look more like a grown-up (since apparently my face tends to fool people into thinking I'm a babe in arms), I needed to get my ears re-pierced - which I did. And, bolstered by assurances of the piercing girl that if I just refrained from bathing my earlobes in irritants like alcohol (which the pharmacist had told me to do... silly), I slogged through the salt-water baths and some very swollen periods, and minor infections that turned one earlobe grey, until finally my body gave up and graciously healed over into some very nice holes. Meanwhile, I became entranced with earrings: especially ones that dangled. In my opinion, if it didn't swing, it wasn't worthwhile, and I amassed a nice little collection. I did find the old earrings, but as I didn't much care for studs, I just transferred them onto a card along with some other odds and ends so they would all stay together and put them away again.
Fast-forward to now. Tonight, I re-discovered those old snowflakes. I realize now that though my ten-year-old self loved them truly, they're really not that spectacular. More importantly, I discovered a pair of gold knots that my parents got for me that Christmas, years ago. They are perfect, and very pretty and I intend to enjoy them immensely.
Interestingly, or grossly (you might even say symbolically), they still had gunk on them from when I tried to wear them the first time around, so I got to wash them clean.
And I guess what I'm saying is that it feels nice to take the good parts of our past, dust them off, and make them part of our selves and our lives as we go. With the incorporation, the memory is revived. My parents supported my goals in life, and they bought me a gift to show me that they loved me. So what if I didn't get to use it 'til years later? They're not just random thing I thought was pretty and bought at Target - they're not empty like that. They are earrings that my mother saw and liked and thought would look good on her daughter. I remember her telling me so.
This story is as it should be.
over 'n out.
E.O.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Note to self
Remember. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be something you can turn in. Your grade does not depend *wholly* on this.
Finish up quick and study for your psych final instead!!
*one-two-three-GO*
Finish up quick and study for your psych final instead!!
*one-two-three-GO*
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
It's that time of the semester
~Warning~ Whiny complaining ahead.
also - victory note - at this point, I have eaten my pride and written 6 pages of terribly organized semi-drivel that I will turn in along with at least 4 more this afternoon at 5PM. This is probably the worst I have ever behaved (or written) when trying to write a paper for college. Yikes!
Every semester there is at least one. One paper that causes me to feel the following:
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!!!!!!!
I just want to WRITE. SOMETHING. Something that is semi-intelligible and turn-in-able!!
This one in particular is only 20% of my grade, and the prof is lenient, so if I just turn in SOMEthing that proves that I have been working on this for weeks at a time (which I have) then I will pass the class with a fairly decent grade. Heck, I could turn NOTHING in and get a B. But I am not the kind of student who can turn in nothing, or even who can turn in something that she knows the prof will read and think "Really? You thought an intelligent person could read this without their brains hurting?"
I have been staring at the information I've collected for this particular paper for... let me think... well, I've been staring REALLY hard for about a week and a half now. And by staring really hard I mean looking at the information, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, going to check facebook, going back to looking at my info, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, walking away to clear my head *repeat*. For hours. Occasionally I'll get some kind of little breakthrough, and do some discourse analysis. But mostly I'll finish 4-5h of work having analyzed one measly little thing that might not even cohere with the rest of the project, utterly discouraged and exhausted. I am TRYING, honest to goodness. But my brain just will. not. synthesize this stuff into something coherent. I have dedicated four of my days, and countless half-days in the past week and a half to trying to get this going SOMEwhere, including today. And you see what I'm doing? I'm writing a blog post about my frustration. Argh!!!!
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!
Could I be any clearer? No, I thought not.
It's two thirty, I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm hungry, but honestly I don't care (which if you know me will tell you just how desperate this has become) because I just want to write SOMETHING. Something intelligible, intelligent, and turn-in-able. Just a freaking START.
And it is that precise determination that is going to force my synapses to get it together already.
One-two-three-GO!
Two-and-a-half hours later, I have three and a half pages. I am averaging a writing speed of 1 page/hour y'all! Praise God. Things were getting ugly.
also - victory note - at this point, I have eaten my pride and written 6 pages of terribly organized semi-drivel that I will turn in along with at least 4 more this afternoon at 5PM. This is probably the worst I have ever behaved (or written) when trying to write a paper for college. Yikes!
Every semester there is at least one. One paper that causes me to feel the following:
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!!!!!!!
I just want to WRITE. SOMETHING. Something that is semi-intelligible and turn-in-able!!
This one in particular is only 20% of my grade, and the prof is lenient, so if I just turn in SOMEthing that proves that I have been working on this for weeks at a time (which I have) then I will pass the class with a fairly decent grade. Heck, I could turn NOTHING in and get a B. But I am not the kind of student who can turn in nothing, or even who can turn in something that she knows the prof will read and think "Really? You thought an intelligent person could read this without their brains hurting?"
I have been staring at the information I've collected for this particular paper for... let me think... well, I've been staring REALLY hard for about a week and a half now. And by staring really hard I mean looking at the information, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, going to check facebook, going back to looking at my info, trying to make sense of it, running up against a wall, walking away to clear my head *repeat*. For hours. Occasionally I'll get some kind of little breakthrough, and do some discourse analysis. But mostly I'll finish 4-5h of work having analyzed one measly little thing that might not even cohere with the rest of the project, utterly discouraged and exhausted. I am TRYING, honest to goodness. But my brain just will. not. synthesize this stuff into something coherent. I have dedicated four of my days, and countless half-days in the past week and a half to trying to get this going SOMEwhere, including today. And you see what I'm doing? I'm writing a blog post about my frustration. Argh!!!!
I HATE THIS STUPID F*ING PAPER!!
Could I be any clearer? No, I thought not.
It's two thirty, I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm hungry, but honestly I don't care (which if you know me will tell you just how desperate this has become) because I just want to write SOMETHING. Something intelligible, intelligent, and turn-in-able. Just a freaking START.
And it is that precise determination that is going to force my synapses to get it together already.
One-two-three-GO!
Two-and-a-half hours later, I have three and a half pages. I am averaging a writing speed of 1 page/hour y'all! Praise God. Things were getting ugly.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Bread!
Today, I made bread.
Me! Bread! Woah!
The recipe came from a dear dear friend of mine who promised me it was the easiest recipe in the world (if I had all the time in the world) and tasted as close to European bread as she has ever come across in the U.S. of A. - so of course, after the quiche-miracle of last week and with a recommendation like that, I just HAD to try it.
I am about to put the first loaf in the oven you guys.
The proof will be, not in the pudding, but in the loaf.
w00t!
p.s.: I wanted to post about this in my facebook status, but I already posted about the miracle quiche last week, and I really do not want to make myself sound too home-makerish. After all, I'M JUST TRYING TO LEARN HOW TO FEED MYSELF FOR CHEAP, YOU GUYS! Without overstepping my budget. Flour and yeast are cheap. Ready-made bread and pie crusts are not. Capiche?
Anyways;
bread!!! :D Yay!
Me! Bread! Woah!
The recipe came from a dear dear friend of mine who promised me it was the easiest recipe in the world (if I had all the time in the world) and tasted as close to European bread as she has ever come across in the U.S. of A. - so of course, after the quiche-miracle of last week and with a recommendation like that, I just HAD to try it.
I am about to put the first loaf in the oven you guys.
The proof will be, not in the pudding, but in the loaf.
w00t!
p.s.: I wanted to post about this in my facebook status, but I already posted about the miracle quiche last week, and I really do not want to make myself sound too home-makerish. After all, I'M JUST TRYING TO LEARN HOW TO FEED MYSELF FOR CHEAP, YOU GUYS! Without overstepping my budget. Flour and yeast are cheap. Ready-made bread and pie crusts are not. Capiche?
Anyways;
bread!!! :D Yay!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Up-side-down
So... yeah... I just spoke. In front of people. About me. And nobody cringed. People laughed (I said funny things! !!). People even came up to me after and said what I'd said had impacted them. I met another TCK!
The world feels just a leetle bit up-side-down tonight. In a good way.
Over 'n out.
E.O.
The world feels just a leetle bit up-side-down tonight. In a good way.
Over 'n out.
E.O.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Studying + Twister = Awesome
How I would Like to Study/Write:
Come finals time I always, for some class or another, find somewhere I can spread out aaaaaalllllll my papers for that class so that I can really get a good look at them. I guess having a real-live bird's-eye-view of them makes me feel like I'll get a bird's-eye-view representation of the material in my head.
So if I had things my way, for this particular project, I'd have a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge piece of white paper, as big as my livingroom floor, with all my translations printed out on it, so I could write all over it and crawl around on the floor, comparing, scribbling, pondering, referring back to the version by my feet... as if the whole thing were a gargantuan game of twister. Yeah.
It'd be fantastic.
But I don't have that much paper or that much tape. =*(
Still, a girl can dream.
Come finals time I always, for some class or another, find somewhere I can spread out aaaaaalllllll my papers for that class so that I can really get a good look at them. I guess having a real-live bird's-eye-view of them makes me feel like I'll get a bird's-eye-view representation of the material in my head.
So if I had things my way, for this particular project, I'd have a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge piece of white paper, as big as my livingroom floor, with all my translations printed out on it, so I could write all over it and crawl around on the floor, comparing, scribbling, pondering, referring back to the version by my feet... as if the whole thing were a gargantuan game of twister. Yeah.
It'd be fantastic.
But I don't have that much paper or that much tape. =*(
Still, a girl can dream.
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