impending revolution

i am currently in charge, in a solo fashion, of approximately 80 students. a revolt in imminent. study hall is an erratic location full of pent up adolescent angst. and they see through the whole "ms. humm as an authority figure" scam. i am fucked.

i like to pretend, most of the time, that my birthday is just another day. it's all a farce. birthdays weigh more than most other days in the year. christmas and thanksgiving are for celebrating the fabulousness of family. and birthdays, friends, are for celebrating the fabulousness of self. as a far-too-contemplative individual, i also love birthdays for their "a year ago... in a year... how i've grown..." nonsense. i know this can be done on other days of the year. but did i write "the last time i was ten" (true poem written by little, nostaligia-hits-early courtney humm) on june 30th? i don't think so. it seems an appropriate time to take account for all that's been accomplished and the squeaky wheels that still necessitate grease.

kids that can't even do a good job of pretending to work suck.

now ethan and i, subversive, young staffers with little respect for library rules, are at the helm. our time is numbered, people. 2 versus 80. french revolution style. the reign of terror is upon us. let's hope the clock strikes 12 for me to see the dawn of my 24th year before it's all over.

emotional diarrhea

i almost started crying when i just yelled (well, not really, yell, i don’t really yell… except when i am talking…) at my ninth graders.

it’s funny. i didn’t know that i can be equally overcome with disappointment as with love for my little chickens (what i call the 9th graders). truth: kids are cruel at times. truth: woodstock is a boarding school with a history of bullying. but it doesn’t fucking hurt me any less. god dammit! what does it take for people to treat each other well? when people treat others well out of the goodness of their christian hearts… is it as pure if people do it because it’s the fucking right thing to do? how can we show them? “you’ll regret treating others badly someday…” so empty. why do we have to learn everything for ourselves, so selfishly guarding life experiences as our own…

what do you want?

i want it to hurt less

i am glad it hurts.

what do you want?

how do you experience love while not longing, the moment while not wishing for it to continue, new worlds without comparing them to the old... how do you move on while standing still, let go of things you love... how do you divide the weight and love it all? why do i use you to insulate myself from things i know are only i's... it's a bad habit to build foundations on moving trains...

we are alone.

we are i.

it's up to you.

it's up to me.

it's a given.

who's going to watch you die?

galavanting garwalis, the sequel

last weekend we departed on a camping journey. jamie, ethan, brian, allison, dave, jason-from-taylor and i loaded up our packs with goodies, our motorcycles with packs and set off on the open road. over a mountain ridge, down to the valley, through the most un-navigable roads possible… and finally to the deolsari forest. during the last leg of the journey, the girls had to de-bike to trade our helmets in for a share jeep. share jeeps frequently breeze by on my morning walks to work, packed with as many as 25 passengers venturing to a variety of locales. it’s indian mass transport—dangerous, somewhat careless and generally a bit uncomfortable. during our 6 km climb, jamie, al and i rode on the roof and then were “lucky” enough to obtain seats in the cab of the jeep, encroaching indian man and all. there is something about indian men… i am not a nice person. not the best version of myself. this is not smiley-thai society, overly polite japanese society or welcoming, open ecuadorian society. this is every woman for herself. shield up. battle.

“you are very beautiful, could you please sing a song for me?”

(after which, i told the worst lie of my life…) “i don’t know any songs and i don’t like music.”

“i am not married. i live in the next village.”

“i have been married for many years. we (motioning to Allison, Jamie and i) are all married. our husbands are waiting for us.” (they actually are married… i am a liar).

the guard seemed as if it could be lowered after exiting the cab of the jeep and parking the motorcycles. not so, friends. now, when i depict the following, you might think it’s cute, loveable and welcoming. not so. when 20 village children approach the whities, start singing songs and yelling, irritation levels do not fall, but rise. after losing the shorties in the forest, we employed one boy (the weird things about india are that even in camping, you are not alone and even in the middle of the forest and you can pay a kid 50 rupees to gather firewood) to gather wood.
alright, just like this weekend, the journey tires me. slack-lined, ate hobo packs (is that the correct camping lingo?), slept under the stars and trees… the like.

and we were even back in time for chapel. boo-ya, shackalacka.

galavanting garwalis

i had this post all ready to go, and then the computer shut down. this did not please me. however, after yoga this morn, i did not greet the error message with profanity. hurray, ravishankar. hurray.

so, as i was saying before i was so rudely interrupted by technological glitches, we expats like to kick it on the weekends. we like to kick it, hard. (we= marathon vinson, kamikaze vandrunnen, bredwinner meyer and the river humm). we're loose cannons, my friends. predictable? no. too cool for school? you bet your britches.


the last few weekends have included hiking, bowling (i got three strikes in a row. for real. proudest life moment.), and an amusement park. bet you didn't see that coming, did you? we set out on a hike to the doon valley around noon, passing through dhobighat (with all of the sheets billowing in the wind, can you guess what dhobi means in hindi, children? i bet you can...) , some villages, a construction site... and then the most surprising of all, joyland. finally, an amusement park void of all the usual shennanigans... seat belts on bumper cars, shoulder harnesses on the "friserbee," safety areas surrounding rides... weekends like these sure do turn frowns upside downs.

raison de etre

lousie makes me want to forget about traveling, grad school and find a baby's daddy. or a husband. lorenz, her dad, says he hopes the baby's daddy and the husband can be one in the same. whatever.

weeks without underwear

wake up. whenever. put on swimsuit. grab towel. glance to make sure the sky is cloudless. stumble to find breakfast. eat on the beach, feet in the sand. swim. float. sit in sun. read. make perfect playlist. swim. find seafood for lunch. eat. find hammock. sit. swim. listen to aforementioned perfect playlist. find sun. swim in the ocean with joe and construct sand sculptures. maybe shower. do not put on underwear. find seafood for dinner. watch sunset. find bar. drink. sleep in bamboo hut on the beach. repeat for one week. travel for a week and a half. take a motorcycle roadtrip through the greenest greens, ocean towns, windy hill roads, in south india. visit a beach only accessible by boat. watch more sunsets. hang out with random anthropologists, canadians, germans and hungarians you meet along the way. stay in fort cochin with an indian family reminiscent of a past thai family. regain hope in humanity. attend a traditional kathakali performance. observe the use of traditional chinese fishing nets and south indian fishing customs. revel at elephants-clad-in-gold for a temple festival. look for coffee shops for journaling. fall in love with the beauty in the world, enthralled by wonder. take a train to the tip of india and watch the sun rise and set over 3 seas. sleep on the floor of the train with shawls to construct your bed. sweat throughout the day, like a westerner. visit the gandhi memorial, illustrating christian, hindu and muslim architecture. repeat the days without underwear for 5 days. swim at black sand beaches. frequent specific cafes and restaraunts. rent a houseboat, just for yourself, with a crew of 3 (1 chef and 2 boatmen) for a night on the keralan backwaters. drink beer. share camel lights with the boat crew. dive into the warmest fresh water you’ve ever felt. take a flight to delhi. ascertain luggage. meet sikh driver, the sight of whom feels like home, and return to mussoorie. repeat whenever possible.