there aren’t many days when you can watch lightning erupting from a cloud in the night sky against the backdrop of satellites shooting stars and the french-manicured nail tip of the moon. and it doesn’t happen everyday that the afternoon sun becomes a torrential downpour during which an umbrella proves futile. seven years ago this week i decided i wanted to be a teacher under the same sky laying on my back not in my front yard in india but at my cabin. there it is again, the perception that the sky has gone unchanged in seven years. i search outside of myself for a constancy that doesn’t exist internally or externally. a constancy that is no more than fallacy that i have desperately pursued for too long.
the perpetually-plaguing realization is that we are alone. even when jamie, joe, ethan and i sang the lyrics while we walked out of the high school, a moment of communal bliss at the end of the day, the lyrics caught me, “life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone.” and i know “like a prayer” is not the most significant of songs. but the sentiment is still there. no one is going to do your learning for you, no matter how much you want to skirt the foremost responsibility in your life. and no excuse will get you out of this assignment, students. the truth is, i don’t know how to be alone. and how to permanently divorce “loneliness” from “solitude.” not that i don’t find bliss in myself. but the silence can be overwhelming. “just give me one thing to hold onto. to believe in this living is a hard way to go.”
the overpowering human consciousness that hit me with the veracity that only comes with painful self-realization awoke me to my numbness. how can numbness become a coping mechanism? a survival tactic? how is it that divorcing from yourself befalls after such a long battle to be awake? and how can that consciousness be as shocking as diving into a minnesota lake in may? the wonder of the shock that awakens you to every once-asleep nerve?
why do i expect you to love me when i secretly and not-so-secretly hate myself? “the paradoxical theory of change is that the more one tries to become what one is not, the more oneremain the same. and health is rediscovering wholeness after a fragmentation that comes from forcing oneself into a mold that doesn’t fit.” i have spent my life waiting for you to tell me what i want. what i am. what i SHOULD be. i’ve anesthetized me from myself. i’ve dreamt your dreams and spent a decade mourning the unfulfilled ideals. i’ve clung to every illusion i could muster. and the moment never fails to look different in the morning. and what was once fully awake is in hindsight pure numbness.
the tricky thing is that the future is based on expectations though i have tried my whole life not to expect anything. the tricky thing is that the truth is that you have to save yourself even though the whole world tells you he will do that for you. the tricky thing is that we don’t do a very good job of distributing the weight in our lives when all good grocery-bag-packers know not to put all your eggs in one basket. the tricky thing is accepting yourself when you said you would never be who you have become, smoking the cigarette you said would never touch your lips. the tricky thing is not basing your worth on comparisons even though we all know we can only be what we are. the tricky thing is that we talk about becoming, dreaming, aspiring rather than being.
wake up. there is no tech support. and the only person who can save me is myself. and the tricky thing is that ignorance is bliss but this fucking complicated reality is even better. because it’s mine.
30 August 2006
25 August 2006
the equation of wasting time
my new favorite time-wasting activity (that is less expensive than internet window shopping) is the google image search engine. this is a picture that came up for teaching. though i do not agree with this hierarchical classroom arrangement, i thought i would share it. look at all the happy little brown students! so multicultural...this fine morning, as i wait for the lunch bell to ring, i have compiled an illustrated equation of my mood.
the formula: courtney humm @ 11:50 on 25 august= (x+y)/ z
plus
divided by 
man. do i REVEL in the perfect time-wasting (though i hate the phrase "waste of time" for many reasons) activity. wasting time is really just becoming consumed in the moment without worrying about responsibilities or consequences. like the 2 hours of sex and the city i watched yesterday afternoon. rufus w. would deem it instant pleasure. and, let's be honest. i am a glutton when it comes to gorging on happiness.
12 August 2006
these mornings of rain (subtitled: homestead #1)
this is my new humble abode, complete with whitey the dog and a swing in the yard. the clinching factor in moving down the mountain from mt. hermon was the ability to play music in every room in the house. that way, when you're getting ready in the morning, you can keep singing along from the shower to the kitchen while making coffee. spiffy. i spent many-a-cozy-monsoon-morning cuddled on my floral couch during my latest bout of bacterial-typhoidal sickness.
and it's true. i do need it all.
these mornings of rain
when the house is cozy
and the phone doesn’t ring
and i am alone
though snug
in my daughter’s
fire-red robe
these mornings of rain
when my lover’s large socks
cushion my chilly feet
and meditation
has made me one
with the pine tree
outside my door
these mornings of rain
when all noises coming
from the street
have a slippery sound
and the wind whistles
and i have had my cup
of green tea
these mornings
in fall
when i have slept late
and dreamed
of people i like
in places where we’re
obviously on vacation
these mornings
i do not need
my beloveds’ arms about me
until much later
in the day.
i do not need food
i do not need the postperson
i do not need my best friend
to call me
with the latest
on the invasion of grenada
and her life
i do not need anything.
to be warm, to be dry,
to be writing poems again
(after months of distraction
and emptiness!),
to love and be loved
in absentia
is joy enough for me.
on these blustery mornings
in a city
that could be wet
from my kisses
i need nothing else.
and then again,
i need it all.
(ALICE WALKER, of course.)
i would include more photos, but the internet is being fickle. imagine a bookshelf with lots of books, a doorway with a double-door arch and light emanating through the windows and a kitchen with a basketful of mangoes and apples and a stash of red wine.
25 July 2006
reality bites?
as we rode home from the first day of staff retreat last monday, which resembled week zero junior counselor training at st. olaf, a new staff member asked me how i ended up in india. “i’d always wanted to live in india, it was this draw…” i said in a dreamy tone that highlighted the now-ridiculous romanticism i had for years attributed to a place i had never been. another friend, who had been here for a year or two, greeted my pronouncement with laughter, and i soon followed suit, losing my breath from amusement.
my love for a country i had never visited is hard to explain after almost a year of indian realities. brushing my teeth with tapwater. the oogling eyes of indian men. how things are never dry and the skies are never sunny for the 2 to 3 months of monsoon. these unidealized truths are only possible through experience. and, it seems, one of the primary stimuli for experiences is the our romanticized views of what something will be. it’s a simple yet thorny truth that we spend our lives planning, preparing, hoping for things that we have never truly experienced. we dream about seeing exotic places or becoming whatever it is we predict will satiate our passions. the future becomes a bed of idealized possibilities, awaiting realization. but, really, we have no idea what it will be like. instead we base decisions on the images of beautiful colors of saris or the brilliant white of the taj mahal against the blue sky brought to us by the lonely planet and national geographic that seem to instill a blind love of the unknown. ultimately, i am thankful for both—the uninformed idealized understanding and the realties of experience.
on my flight back from japan i was reading “innocence” by ruth prawer jhabvala in the new yorker…
“he said that we lived in an india that had been invented in the nineteenth century by german professors, and that, by keeping our eyes fixed on mystical and mythical abstractions, we failed to look down at the earth and the people crowding it. it was only, he said, when something unpleasant happened to us—a sickness, or some fat shopkeeper cheating us, or a youth groping us on a bus—it was only then that we recognized that we were living in a real place, in a city like any other; and at once our noble, our spiritual india was degraded into a country of thievery and lechery.”
ultimately, it’s unfair to identify a place too simply with the glowing lonely planet pictures and too negatively filled with the mundane realities of day-to-day life. and, in the end, the only complete definitions of places are seen with a sense of romance coupled with the commonplace nature of actuality.
my love for a country i had never visited is hard to explain after almost a year of indian realities. brushing my teeth with tapwater. the oogling eyes of indian men. how things are never dry and the skies are never sunny for the 2 to 3 months of monsoon. these unidealized truths are only possible through experience. and, it seems, one of the primary stimuli for experiences is the our romanticized views of what something will be. it’s a simple yet thorny truth that we spend our lives planning, preparing, hoping for things that we have never truly experienced. we dream about seeing exotic places or becoming whatever it is we predict will satiate our passions. the future becomes a bed of idealized possibilities, awaiting realization. but, really, we have no idea what it will be like. instead we base decisions on the images of beautiful colors of saris or the brilliant white of the taj mahal against the blue sky brought to us by the lonely planet and national geographic that seem to instill a blind love of the unknown. ultimately, i am thankful for both—the uninformed idealized understanding and the realties of experience.
on my flight back from japan i was reading “innocence” by ruth prawer jhabvala in the new yorker…
“he said that we lived in an india that had been invented in the nineteenth century by german professors, and that, by keeping our eyes fixed on mystical and mythical abstractions, we failed to look down at the earth and the people crowding it. it was only, he said, when something unpleasant happened to us—a sickness, or some fat shopkeeper cheating us, or a youth groping us on a bus—it was only then that we recognized that we were living in a real place, in a city like any other; and at once our noble, our spiritual india was degraded into a country of thievery and lechery.”
ultimately, it’s unfair to identify a place too simply with the glowing lonely planet pictures and too negatively filled with the mundane realities of day-to-day life. and, in the end, the only complete definitions of places are seen with a sense of romance coupled with the commonplace nature of actuality.
12 July 2006
topu tenu
ashlee, isaac and i recently watched high fidelity, thus inspiring me to do a list of the top ten (rather than five) debacles, experiences, emotions, etc. of my two weeks in japan.
10. the bike debacle
today i went into takasaki.
i parked ashlee’s bike near the train station, where i always park it. when i returned after wandering around, the bike was nowhere to be found. in a country where one consistently sees people set their bags and computers down, reminiscent of the caf entrance at olaf, i knew no one had stolen the bike. after wandering around for awhile, i went to the police station. after some confusion, i tried to convey the bike was GONE but not necessarily STOLEN. in these situations it’s as if we act as thesauri, fishing for any thing that your partner in broken-english conversation might recognize. after some finagling, and a via-phone translator, the police officer led me to a small area on the other side of the station with about fifty bikes. when i tried to ask “why?” i realized that wasn’t a pertinent question. i accepted i would never know and unlocked the bike as the police officer looked on, looking slightly more confused than me.
9. being a wrench in the well-oiled system that is japan.
japanese culture is amazing. one-of-a-kind. no litter yet there are no garbage cans to be found. sometimes when you are in a busy shopping mall with multiple workers you can be welcomed to the store about a billion times in a minute. 
people stand at stoplights, with no cars coming, pondering if they should break with the norm, go against the signal and cross the street. those tidbits might not add up to a cohesive view of the most developed asian country. if they do not, i apologize. look at ashlee or isaac or blog. they are the resident experts.
anyway, sometimes it’s fun being sort of japanese-looking (i don’t think so, but japanese people seem to) and not able to understand. there are about a million tangents i could enter, but i will not digress at this time. i am akin to the wrench in the system, the virus in the computer that the genius engineers never expected. suffice it to say, i love looking at people’s faces when i stare into their eyes blankly. if they have enough english to chuckle about it, we do so. otherwise, they just walk away, befuddled by the girl who almost ran into them while trying to gracefully weave her bike between pedestrians, bikes and cars or who has no idea that they just asked if i wanted my rice ball heated up.
8. onsens
perhaps one of the greatest things about japanese culture are the onsens. onsens are essentially baths and can also be hot springs. many hotels have public onsens and there are entire facilities dedicated to the practice of bathing and relaxation.
onsens are separated for men and women to foster the appropriate sense of openness to allow public (or semi-public) nudity. the best onsens have freezing cold baths that you can plunge into following the 100 degree celsius sauna or the hot baths. it’s like you can feel every part of your body waking up, like new.
7. ueno
ueno mura is the village isaac calls home and is a part of japan i know i never would’ve seen without isaac as a guide. the windy drive from takasaki, the city ashlee lives in, grows increasingly more mountainous and less populated. highlights: swimming in a river directly downstream from a waterfall and picnicking on japanese cuisine on a peak above the city.
6. nikko
nikko is one of my favorite places in japan. it is home to one of the most famous shinto shrines, tosho-gu shrine-mausoleum which is dedicated to tokugawa ieyasu, and perfectly coalesces the emphasis shintoism places upon natural beauty and spiritual centers. this is one of my favorite little temples and is situated among giant trees that contrast with the red of the temple roofs (the other shrines are a lot more grand, this is a little guy).
shinto and buddhist temples throughout japan, notably in nikko and kyoto, have consistently helped me understand organized religion, something that more often befuddles me. it also makes me think of a part of dave eggers’ short story, “the meaning of the oil-wet water.”
“she closed her eyes. opened them, closed them. she could end this world or allow it. this was a moment when a believer, a thoughtful believer, would think of god’s work, and how good it was. the waves were perfect to the right and perfect to the left… for a while she was enchanted by those who proposed that god was in nature, was all around us, was the accumulated natural world. “god,” they would suggest, “is in all living things. god is beauty, god is the long grass and the foam finishing a waterfall.” that sort of thing. she liked that idea, god being in things that she could see, because she liked seeing things and wanted to believe in these things that she loved looking at—loved the notion that it was all here and easily observable, which one’s eyes being in some way the clergy, the connection between god and—…
but a single contained god implied or insisted upon a hierarchy that she didn’t accept. god gave way to a system of extremes, and implied choices, and choices required separations, divisions, subtle condemnations. she was not ready to choose one god, so there would not be this sort of god in pilar’s world, and thus the transcendental diety—…
but then why god at all? the oil-wet water was not god. it was not the least bit spiritual. it was oil-wet water, and it felt perfect when pilar put her hand into it, and it kissed her palm again and again, would never stop kissing her palm and why wasn’t that enough?” (EGGERS, ON HOW WE ARE HUNGRY, P. 52)
5. roadtrips
be it driving with the music blasting in isaac’s car, watching the mountains rise from the city streets or making up songs to sing with ashlee (as her car only has am radio), driving is such a phenomenal way to see a country. especially when ashlee and i got lost approximately twenty times on the way to the shinozaki farm and then to nikko. being a navigator in a country that utilizes kanji is another level all together.
4. the fish market debacle
though we eventually reigned victorious over the toshugi fish market, one of the most famous fish markets in the world, it was not always so. isaac, ashlee and i spent my first weekend in tokyo.
following a night at a bar/restraunt on saturday, we awoke at 3:45 am to get to the toshugi fish market in time for the renowned fish auction. we arrived at the train station, only to find it closed. we decided to take a cab, one of the most expensive ventures in a country of mass-transportation. thirty dollars later (for a short cab ride), we arrived on the corner of the fish market only to realize it is closed on sundays. to say we should have known better is an understatement.
3. food
food is always a factor. if you know me, you know the amount of time mentally allocated to planning meals, perfect bites and the like. japanese food is stupendous, partly due to its freshness and the purity of each taste. though wasabi is used as a flavoring, it seems the perfect illustration of japanese food—one taste obliterates everything but the overwhelming sensation of indescribable-nasal-passage-clearing euphoria. some other favorites are rice triangles that are filled with salmon and wrapped in seaweed, tempura (like fried, only lighter), edamame (boiled soybeans), sushi rolls and sashimi (raw fish without the rice or seaweed).
i also love japanese food because of the presentation. everything is arranged to maximize the aesthetic value of your culinary experience. one of our best meals was when ash and i had sushi for breakfast at the tsujiki fish market (following our first failed attempt). however, experimentation can also lead to regret—like trying sea urchin for the first time and having to somehow choke down the entire roll. one word: goozey. or accidentally buying fermented bean sushi for a picnic—you should have seen the rolls unfurl as isaac and i chucked them over the cliff.
2. drinking with ashlee’s landlord, mr. sakaguchi, and the shinozaki farm
ashlee’s landlord, mr. sakaguchi, told her that she should contact koigi shinozaki—a former olympic equestrian—if she ever wanted to ride horses. since the ranch he owns is close to nikko, we decided to spend the night. 
the shinozaki’s house is surrounded by a bamboo forest and a lush garden. in the yard is also a small cabin-like structure for parties and get-togethers. at the middle of the “bamboo-wind-house” is a small grill. when we arrived at the ranch koigi took us the the small house where ashlee’s landlord, self-proclaimed “mr. jordan” (his self-proclaimed nickname which translates as “mr. joker” in japanese), was already quite “happy” at eleven in the morning. it’s difficult to convey the hilarity of seeing a japanese man so openly emotional and animated. between singing drinking songs and avowing his personal philosophies, i.e. thanking his wife three times consecutively, he had us rolling in the aisles.
additionally, the whole shinozaki farm experience turned out to be unreal—a house that could have been taken straight from minnesota (where corrine, koigi’s wife was born), complete with pictures of the twin cities, articles about the newly-renovated guthrie on the refrigerator, central air and heat and two of the most gracious hosts known to man. it was as if we had driven to the center of japan to discover an oasis more extraordinary than a mirage.
1. kindreds
but, ultimately, the reason i came to japan was to see ashlee and isaac. ashlee and i spent two days in tokyo and during those two days i essentially forgot i was in japan. vertigo impelled by happiness clouded our location. hanging out, shopping for cds, walking around, picnicking in the park we just happened to be surrounded by asian people. i’m glad to have visited japan before because it took the pressure off of lounging in bed and watching the horse whisperer and sex and the city. once when the three of us were driving somewhere i had the distinct feeling that if i died at that moment, i would be at peace. i know that’s a strange way to express an emotion, but i guess it is the pure sense of truly feeling and accepting, things that don’t always impel such a sense of completeness.
10. the bike debacle
today i went into takasaki.
i parked ashlee’s bike near the train station, where i always park it. when i returned after wandering around, the bike was nowhere to be found. in a country where one consistently sees people set their bags and computers down, reminiscent of the caf entrance at olaf, i knew no one had stolen the bike. after wandering around for awhile, i went to the police station. after some confusion, i tried to convey the bike was GONE but not necessarily STOLEN. in these situations it’s as if we act as thesauri, fishing for any thing that your partner in broken-english conversation might recognize. after some finagling, and a via-phone translator, the police officer led me to a small area on the other side of the station with about fifty bikes. when i tried to ask “why?” i realized that wasn’t a pertinent question. i accepted i would never know and unlocked the bike as the police officer looked on, looking slightly more confused than me. 9. being a wrench in the well-oiled system that is japan.
japanese culture is amazing. one-of-a-kind. no litter yet there are no garbage cans to be found. sometimes when you are in a busy shopping mall with multiple workers you can be welcomed to the store about a billion times in a minute. 
people stand at stoplights, with no cars coming, pondering if they should break with the norm, go against the signal and cross the street. those tidbits might not add up to a cohesive view of the most developed asian country. if they do not, i apologize. look at ashlee or isaac or blog. they are the resident experts.anyway, sometimes it’s fun being sort of japanese-looking (i don’t think so, but japanese people seem to) and not able to understand. there are about a million tangents i could enter, but i will not digress at this time. i am akin to the wrench in the system, the virus in the computer that the genius engineers never expected. suffice it to say, i love looking at people’s faces when i stare into their eyes blankly. if they have enough english to chuckle about it, we do so. otherwise, they just walk away, befuddled by the girl who almost ran into them while trying to gracefully weave her bike between pedestrians, bikes and cars or who has no idea that they just asked if i wanted my rice ball heated up.
8. onsens
perhaps one of the greatest things about japanese culture are the onsens. onsens are essentially baths and can also be hot springs. many hotels have public onsens and there are entire facilities dedicated to the practice of bathing and relaxation.
onsens are separated for men and women to foster the appropriate sense of openness to allow public (or semi-public) nudity. the best onsens have freezing cold baths that you can plunge into following the 100 degree celsius sauna or the hot baths. it’s like you can feel every part of your body waking up, like new. 7. ueno
ueno mura is the village isaac calls home and is a part of japan i know i never would’ve seen without isaac as a guide. the windy drive from takasaki, the city ashlee lives in, grows increasingly more mountainous and less populated. highlights: swimming in a river directly downstream from a waterfall and picnicking on japanese cuisine on a peak above the city. 6. nikko
nikko is one of my favorite places in japan. it is home to one of the most famous shinto shrines, tosho-gu shrine-mausoleum which is dedicated to tokugawa ieyasu, and perfectly coalesces the emphasis shintoism places upon natural beauty and spiritual centers. this is one of my favorite little temples and is situated among giant trees that contrast with the red of the temple roofs (the other shrines are a lot more grand, this is a little guy).
shinto and buddhist temples throughout japan, notably in nikko and kyoto, have consistently helped me understand organized religion, something that more often befuddles me. it also makes me think of a part of dave eggers’ short story, “the meaning of the oil-wet water.” 
“she closed her eyes. opened them, closed them. she could end this world or allow it. this was a moment when a believer, a thoughtful believer, would think of god’s work, and how good it was. the waves were perfect to the right and perfect to the left… for a while she was enchanted by those who proposed that god was in nature, was all around us, was the accumulated natural world. “god,” they would suggest, “is in all living things. god is beauty, god is the long grass and the foam finishing a waterfall.” that sort of thing. she liked that idea, god being in things that she could see, because she liked seeing things and wanted to believe in these things that she loved looking at—loved the notion that it was all here and easily observable, which one’s eyes being in some way the clergy, the connection between god and—…
but a single contained god implied or insisted upon a hierarchy that she didn’t accept. god gave way to a system of extremes, and implied choices, and choices required separations, divisions, subtle condemnations. she was not ready to choose one god, so there would not be this sort of god in pilar’s world, and thus the transcendental diety—…
but then why god at all? the oil-wet water was not god. it was not the least bit spiritual. it was oil-wet water, and it felt perfect when pilar put her hand into it, and it kissed her palm again and again, would never stop kissing her palm and why wasn’t that enough?” (EGGERS, ON HOW WE ARE HUNGRY, P. 52)
5. roadtrips
be it driving with the music blasting in isaac’s car, watching the mountains rise from the city streets or making up songs to sing with ashlee (as her car only has am radio), driving is such a phenomenal way to see a country. especially when ashlee and i got lost approximately twenty times on the way to the shinozaki farm and then to nikko. being a navigator in a country that utilizes kanji is another level all together.
4. the fish market debacle
though we eventually reigned victorious over the toshugi fish market, one of the most famous fish markets in the world, it was not always so. isaac, ashlee and i spent my first weekend in tokyo.
following a night at a bar/restraunt on saturday, we awoke at 3:45 am to get to the toshugi fish market in time for the renowned fish auction. we arrived at the train station, only to find it closed. we decided to take a cab, one of the most expensive ventures in a country of mass-transportation. thirty dollars later (for a short cab ride), we arrived on the corner of the fish market only to realize it is closed on sundays. to say we should have known better is an understatement. 3. food
food is always a factor. if you know me, you know the amount of time mentally allocated to planning meals, perfect bites and the like. japanese food is stupendous, partly due to its freshness and the purity of each taste. though wasabi is used as a flavoring, it seems the perfect illustration of japanese food—one taste obliterates everything but the overwhelming sensation of indescribable-nasal-passage-clearing euphoria. some other favorites are rice triangles that are filled with salmon and wrapped in seaweed, tempura (like fried, only lighter), edamame (boiled soybeans), sushi rolls and sashimi (raw fish without the rice or seaweed). 
i also love japanese food because of the presentation. everything is arranged to maximize the aesthetic value of your culinary experience. one of our best meals was when ash and i had sushi for breakfast at the tsujiki fish market (following our first failed attempt). however, experimentation can also lead to regret—like trying sea urchin for the first time and having to somehow choke down the entire roll. one word: goozey. or accidentally buying fermented bean sushi for a picnic—you should have seen the rolls unfurl as isaac and i chucked them over the cliff. 2. drinking with ashlee’s landlord, mr. sakaguchi, and the shinozaki farm
ashlee’s landlord, mr. sakaguchi, told her that she should contact koigi shinozaki—a former olympic equestrian—if she ever wanted to ride horses. since the ranch he owns is close to nikko, we decided to spend the night. 
the shinozaki’s house is surrounded by a bamboo forest and a lush garden. in the yard is also a small cabin-like structure for parties and get-togethers. at the middle of the “bamboo-wind-house” is a small grill. when we arrived at the ranch koigi took us the the small house where ashlee’s landlord, self-proclaimed “mr. jordan” (his self-proclaimed nickname which translates as “mr. joker” in japanese), was already quite “happy” at eleven in the morning. it’s difficult to convey the hilarity of seeing a japanese man so openly emotional and animated. between singing drinking songs and avowing his personal philosophies, i.e. thanking his wife three times consecutively, he had us rolling in the aisles.
additionally, the whole shinozaki farm experience turned out to be unreal—a house that could have been taken straight from minnesota (where corrine, koigi’s wife was born), complete with pictures of the twin cities, articles about the newly-renovated guthrie on the refrigerator, central air and heat and two of the most gracious hosts known to man. it was as if we had driven to the center of japan to discover an oasis more extraordinary than a mirage.
1. kindreds
but, ultimately, the reason i came to japan was to see ashlee and isaac. ashlee and i spent two days in tokyo and during those two days i essentially forgot i was in japan. vertigo impelled by happiness clouded our location. hanging out, shopping for cds, walking around, picnicking in the park we just happened to be surrounded by asian people. i’m glad to have visited japan before because it took the pressure off of lounging in bed and watching the horse whisperer and sex and the city. once when the three of us were driving somewhere i had the distinct feeling that if i died at that moment, i would be at peace. i know that’s a strange way to express an emotion, but i guess it is the pure sense of truly feeling and accepting, things that don’t always impel such a sense of completeness.
mcdonaldization of society
i never eat at mcdonald’s in the united states. when i opt for fast food i typically patronize wendy’s or subway. much of the time, i hate the effect of mcdonald's on american and international society. however, my personal relationship with mcdonald’s in other countries is another story all together (a.k.a. not taking into account the big picture). my interactions with the golden arches and other similarly western chains (the hard rock cafe, t.g.i. fridays, etc.) in my time abroad is exhibited below. though this sequence is not a fool proof evolution of life in a foreign setting, it seems fitting approximately 76% of the time (99% error).1. you will not eat at mcdonald’s under any circumstances.
2. you will eat at mcdonald’s only out of comfort. even if you never eat there in the united states, the golden arches somehow instigate a feeling of security in the foreign land. however, you will feel guilt and will likely keep your culinary experience a secret.
3. you will eat at mcdonald’s without remorse. you realize mcdonald’s is it’s own cultural experience. though it is not sushi or tandoori chicken or even plantains, it is unique in and of itself. you realize that mcdonald's will exist with or without your patronage. you will note the people who frequent the establishment. you’ll notice that the menu has slight variations. veggie burgers in india. the ecuadorian kfc has replaced mashed potatoes with rice. dominoes in india boasts tandoori chicken and veggie masala pizza. but the hard rock cafe in tokyo DOES have outstanding margaritas and sangria.
30 June 2006
well, that's indicative (subtitled: here's to you, india)
when dave and i were traveling in january, we took mental pictures of things that were “indicatively indian.” clocks with no arms. cues with no order. the like. after four months of cultural observation cole deemed india, “generally illogical and irresponsible.” you might think we are badmouthing this country. that we’re condescending or judgmental of a system that is effective when measured culturally. maybe so. but in a country with “conizzas”—pizza+cone— traffic signs that go completely unnoticed and no sense of order it seems accurate.
today i thought that i had won the ongoing battle between india and courtney. i would like to believe that a game of the match has gone to each team. one to courtney for a stellar first semester at woodstock, one to india for dealing ms. humm the tko via typhoid, etc. on the way to the airport, i felt like the queen. i spoke too far too soon. when i arrived at the airport, after calling to confirm that my flight was on time (an overly responsible move for me), my mind was sent into overdrive. if my flight was supposed to depart at 9 pm, what could “4:24 rescheduled” mean? had i missed the plane? no. instead, indian air (the airlines that [along with my own oversight] brought you “christmas day in bombay 2005”) has also sponsored “june 28th at the skeeziest-supposedly-nice hotel in delhi” (yes, woodstockers, the centaur—site of the “mouse over joanna’s head incident). somehow, between the 5 hours i had confirmed my flight and arriving at the airport, all had gone awry. a roadblock impeded the completion of my global iron man-- 24 hours of flight travel in 3 days, almost completely circumnavigating the globe.
judge me for badmouthing india. it’s true, i am overly cynical about this place after my last defeat. i overcame the taxi scramble last night that impelled me into a rat race for my taxi cab, including shouting accompanied by angry gestures over my fare, and concluding with requests for compensation for no reason. apparently, tonight we were supposed to get a free phone call. there is no operator in the hotel. there is no word from the airline and our re-scheduled flight is supposed to leave in an hour and a half. i am on approximately my 24th hour of shitty tv (coupled with the crappy tv from the initial layover period). i don’t know what was more of a dive, “beauty and the geek” or the part of the “amazing race” when the contestants were bitching about the “gross,” “jalopy” cars in senegal or when they passed out candy to the children because of their “sweet faces and endearing smiles” and that it “made them feel good” to give them candy (which, in some studies, has actually been proved to detrimentally affect teeth. especially those not often seen by dentists). i left my room and my key stopped working while i was gone. i tried to overlook the bugs in my cereal this morning and the mob of pushy taxi drivers at the airport. and now, the time for perspective is through. in total, in three trips to india (counting the last 24 hours as a “trip”) i have been delayed for over 28 hours on air india and have succumbed to 4 gastrointestinal diseases. dear india, you are 2 for 1. throw me a bone, here. seriously.
today i thought that i had won the ongoing battle between india and courtney. i would like to believe that a game of the match has gone to each team. one to courtney for a stellar first semester at woodstock, one to india for dealing ms. humm the tko via typhoid, etc. on the way to the airport, i felt like the queen. i spoke too far too soon. when i arrived at the airport, after calling to confirm that my flight was on time (an overly responsible move for me), my mind was sent into overdrive. if my flight was supposed to depart at 9 pm, what could “4:24 rescheduled” mean? had i missed the plane? no. instead, indian air (the airlines that [along with my own oversight] brought you “christmas day in bombay 2005”) has also sponsored “june 28th at the skeeziest-supposedly-nice hotel in delhi” (yes, woodstockers, the centaur—site of the “mouse over joanna’s head incident). somehow, between the 5 hours i had confirmed my flight and arriving at the airport, all had gone awry. a roadblock impeded the completion of my global iron man-- 24 hours of flight travel in 3 days, almost completely circumnavigating the globe.
judge me for badmouthing india. it’s true, i am overly cynical about this place after my last defeat. i overcame the taxi scramble last night that impelled me into a rat race for my taxi cab, including shouting accompanied by angry gestures over my fare, and concluding with requests for compensation for no reason. apparently, tonight we were supposed to get a free phone call. there is no operator in the hotel. there is no word from the airline and our re-scheduled flight is supposed to leave in an hour and a half. i am on approximately my 24th hour of shitty tv (coupled with the crappy tv from the initial layover period). i don’t know what was more of a dive, “beauty and the geek” or the part of the “amazing race” when the contestants were bitching about the “gross,” “jalopy” cars in senegal or when they passed out candy to the children because of their “sweet faces and endearing smiles” and that it “made them feel good” to give them candy (which, in some studies, has actually been proved to detrimentally affect teeth. especially those not often seen by dentists). i left my room and my key stopped working while i was gone. i tried to overlook the bugs in my cereal this morning and the mob of pushy taxi drivers at the airport. and now, the time for perspective is through. in total, in three trips to india (counting the last 24 hours as a “trip”) i have been delayed for over 28 hours on air india and have succumbed to 4 gastrointestinal diseases. dear india, you are 2 for 1. throw me a bone, here. seriously.
26 June 2006
"how she wished she could learn lightness!"*
this morning i woke up about every ½ an hour. i would have a dream, realize i was awake and then look at the clock, relieved with every hour of sleep that remained. in a way, i was thankful. unlike the previous week, i did not awake beset with anxiety (about returning to india) and foot-twitching restlessness, but full of calm. it was as if i kept waking myself up to enjoy my last morning in my bed. catching a glimpse of the rising sun. inhaling the indefinable smell of cool air entering my window and blowing the blinds against the window sill.
if i ever made decisions the morning i was supposed to depart, i would never do anything. the weight and comfort of unchanging inertia lull me into a sense of complacency. it’s the waking to the alarm at 5:45 and FORCING yourself out of bed to run because after 15 minutes of running you will be immeasurably happy. when you don’t get up, there’s an immediate pleasure coupled with a subsequent regret/ mourning for something that would have enriched your day. going back to india could be likened to returning to running after a painful injury—one that obliterates pleasant memories with those of other varieties.
i feel like the last two months have been spent gorging on the u.s. friends, food, convenience... absorbing everything like a sponge to sustain me in a land void of wine, new movies, salads, and many of my kindreds. really, part of life may be storing up moments. the feeling of laying in bed in the morning. cabin time with my mom. spinning top light riverside conversations. watching a storm roll in from a hammock. in particular, moments that can be reused and relived on darker, less remarkable days. like at funerals/ wakes and the like when the remaining reminisce about more pleasant times. (extreme example). they prepare us for any dark times to come. and though we shouldn’t spend our whole life re-living golden moments (or, for that matter, “shoulding” in general), they can be welcome lifejackets. most of that was taken from a journal entry from 2004. nothing and everything has changed between storing up moments to go on term in asia and to move back to india. living for the unquantifiable moment seems the constant.
“there’s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined (though everyone but children [and perhaps even they] know these hours will be inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult) still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.” (MICHAEL CUNNINGHAM, THE HOURS)
as i drove home from minneapolis saturday night i justified the windows-down heat-full-blast coldplay driving with the brevity of my time in minnesota. actually, i might have done it anyway. as i rounded the slow curve on 35w south, for some reason my favorite driving venue, i wondered if i would chose at that moment to return to asia. why must i urge myself to return to a place that i actually like?
today i cried for the first time as i departed from the minneapolis/ st. paul airport, a coupling of sadness for what was and hesitance toward the unknown.
“everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine… the brain appears to possess a special area which records everything that charms or touches us which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful… and therein lies the whole of man’s plight. human time does not turn a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. that is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.” (MILAN KUNDERA, THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING).
i fancy the idea of storing moments and remembering the past. in a way, it is the weight of my life, the thing i use to center who i am. i only hope this love for what was does not blind me to what is to come. that i have not made lightness impossible with my yearning for permanence and comfort.
(*title from the unbearable lightness of being)
if i ever made decisions the morning i was supposed to depart, i would never do anything. the weight and comfort of unchanging inertia lull me into a sense of complacency. it’s the waking to the alarm at 5:45 and FORCING yourself out of bed to run because after 15 minutes of running you will be immeasurably happy. when you don’t get up, there’s an immediate pleasure coupled with a subsequent regret/ mourning for something that would have enriched your day. going back to india could be likened to returning to running after a painful injury—one that obliterates pleasant memories with those of other varieties.
i feel like the last two months have been spent gorging on the u.s. friends, food, convenience... absorbing everything like a sponge to sustain me in a land void of wine, new movies, salads, and many of my kindreds. really, part of life may be storing up moments. the feeling of laying in bed in the morning. cabin time with my mom. spinning top light riverside conversations. watching a storm roll in from a hammock. in particular, moments that can be reused and relived on darker, less remarkable days. like at funerals/ wakes and the like when the remaining reminisce about more pleasant times. (extreme example). they prepare us for any dark times to come. and though we shouldn’t spend our whole life re-living golden moments (or, for that matter, “shoulding” in general), they can be welcome lifejackets. most of that was taken from a journal entry from 2004. nothing and everything has changed between storing up moments to go on term in asia and to move back to india. living for the unquantifiable moment seems the constant.“there’s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined (though everyone but children [and perhaps even they] know these hours will be inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult) still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.” (MICHAEL CUNNINGHAM, THE HOURS)
as i drove home from minneapolis saturday night i justified the windows-down heat-full-blast coldplay driving with the brevity of my time in minnesota. actually, i might have done it anyway. as i rounded the slow curve on 35w south, for some reason my favorite driving venue, i wondered if i would chose at that moment to return to asia. why must i urge myself to return to a place that i actually like?
today i cried for the first time as i departed from the minneapolis/ st. paul airport, a coupling of sadness for what was and hesitance toward the unknown. “everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine… the brain appears to possess a special area which records everything that charms or touches us which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful… and therein lies the whole of man’s plight. human time does not turn a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. that is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.” (MILAN KUNDERA, THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING).
i fancy the idea of storing moments and remembering the past. in a way, it is the weight of my life, the thing i use to center who i am. i only hope this love for what was does not blind me to what is to come. that i have not made lightness impossible with my yearning for permanence and comfort.
(*title from the unbearable lightness of being)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
