Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Two beautiful things
One: Cold air, pale blue light, glints of sun on the frost everywhere, I'm functioning on auto, got to get to work, car's broke driving the Tahoe can't find an ice scraper. My old standby, the check card, scraping the frozen hard frost off the windshield, I come around to the side, my hand lifted to apply, flash. Through my mind goes the knowledge that if you reveal only part of an image, if the revelation is uniform, the picture will complete itself in your mind. And isn't that so, Lord? We don't need to know it all. I love the processes of intuition, they are mysterious and beautiful, and there for those with eyes to see. I swipe the card on the window. Back and forth, back and forth, leaving large spaces of frost in between the swathes. I get to the bottom of the window and there, clearly, I see my face and hair. The completed image, the knowledge, finished, only in my mind but accurate as the cold clear light of morning.
Two: Driving down Central Avenue, the light diffusing and getting softer, peering through the hole of clarity I made on the windshield, the sun blinding, right in my eyes, I catch movement in front of me, a man. Running across the road. A brilliant gold halo encircles his head. Long shaggy hair, a hat, baggy coat. But mostly just gold. Shooting out around his form. I see a thick swirl of warm breath curl out and above his head, through the gold, into the pale blue sky.
Two: Driving down Central Avenue, the light diffusing and getting softer, peering through the hole of clarity I made on the windshield, the sun blinding, right in my eyes, I catch movement in front of me, a man. Running across the road. A brilliant gold halo encircles his head. Long shaggy hair, a hat, baggy coat. But mostly just gold. Shooting out around his form. I see a thick swirl of warm breath curl out and above his head, through the gold, into the pale blue sky.
Monday, December 12, 2011
huh
have i mentioned i need a job? tuesdays and thursdays. need it. want it.
don't know why this is a relevant blog post. perhaps someone living in knoxville will see this
post after trolling the internet and comment here and offer me an interesting low-key high-paying
job on tuesdays and thursdays. don't ever let your dreams die.
don't know why this is a relevant blog post. perhaps someone living in knoxville will see this
post after trolling the internet and comment here and offer me an interesting low-key high-paying
job on tuesdays and thursdays. don't ever let your dreams die.
Monday, December 05, 2011
A letter I wrote to a friend explaining why I like that book, Suttree.
I have always been able to feel things, sense things about the environment that I am in, and even the environment inside myself, and in others. As long as I can remember I've been able to see things that other people couldn't and know things that other people didn't know. Jordan and I were close enough growing up that she knew that I knew things...it wasn't until we were probably 10 and 11 that we actually said anything about it out loud. Even then we just acknowledged it. Its because of this phenomenon that I always said, even as a child, that when I grew up I wanted to live in the mountains. The mountains seemed to me to be the purest essence of what I knew, what I was made of, what my life was made of. It was part of me, without all the messy. Thats why I loved them. It wasn't till later on in life that I realized where I lived was not just a yard, a house, a song, a road, not just a church or some people or a certain sadness, but that civilization had named it, called it a "city". So I learned I lived in a city named Knoxville. But everywhere I went, I felt and listened, and took on the habit of always discerning for similarities, consistencies, or vast differences. In people, in places, in experiences. And in this city there are themes that run unchanged, that are deeper than my simple experiences and wider than my understanding. I have studied them and felt them, been affected by them and tried to affect them, in my own small way, and I wonder even now if its worth it to mess with things you can never fully understand. The more you know the more you are responsible for. Amen?
When I read Suttree, it was as if someone had taken the spirit of this place and put it into a man, into a life, a book, into a feeling created with long strings of words and sounds and phrases. Exactly that.
People move here expecting it to be a very quiet and dismissive little city, with a small thoughts and even smaller aspirations. They expect to be able to just do as they like, live how they like and go about their business, unbothered. People in the distant suburbs sometimes manage to do just that, I think. They live in a subdivision and occasionally make it in to wal-mart or to Krystal. But the closer you get to downtown, the heart, the more this thing, whatever it is, will touch you. People move here with expectations, but before long, the discerning man will notice a certain stubborn despair that fills this town, dramatic despair that is at essence, unnecessary and extravagant. It loves fun, it loves music, it loves living but is ashamed to admit it. It is hopeful but spouts cynicism, it rejects material wealth as "dead" but embraces death in drinking and dancing and running away from life. It is hypocritical and beautiful, sensitive and good at things. It is smart, but too damn emotional to do anything about that. That is just what I see, as a kind of metaphor for the real thing...it is deeper than that and affects other people differently. My parents, for example, or the riverfront. My Aunt Betty. There is a history too, of poverty and slavery and sharecropping and mountain living, of dance halls and knife fights and segregation and the world's fair and those rich brothers. You see it most clearly in the young, and in the artists, dreamers, writers, and musicians. It is so much a part of who I am... like it or not.
But whatever it is, (and it is so hard to really put words to it) a perfect portrait of it can be found in that damn book. Suttree. Thats why I like it. Thats why I love it.
Don't know if any of that made any sense. But still.
~nats
Monday, November 28, 2011
chronicles
You have never sat with perfect intimacy and watched one you love and have given yourself to die in your arms. Made all the worse by physical health the death of the mind, the heart, of light itself, fading slowly but undeniably out of eyes that you have bet your life on living, instead, dying, right in front of you, as you stare into them from inches away. The light fades, as you watch. You die too.
You have never fought to protect your little shrunken soul from a battering, from bricks and knives and weight, pressure so heavy you struggle to breath, forgetting its absence. You have never been scared of violence. Not really.
You have never prayed to God that you have always trusted for the life of your best friend only to watch him die slowly, with such pain. The body stays strong, but the soul, the man, he dies. You watch him, praying the whole time, terrified of what will happen, to him, to you. Absolute terror takes over and controls your life. Eventually you stop praying and succumb to the fear, listening as it tells you what steps to take and how to feel.
You have never walked with agonizingly slow steps away from a car with a yelling, screaming, raging man in it, still screaming through the closed doors, knowing that he was really just crying, a little crying boy, knowing that it would do no good to cradle his head in your lap, knowing the rage would prevent the tears and any healing found in them.
You have never heard him pray to God, in your car, after a fight, heard his weak voice asking for help, heard the precious tiny amount of hope, begging this unknown God to help him feel his love, a moment of truth, where he humbled himself and asked. This was early on, before. It did not happen again.
You have never held his head because it was so beautiful and you were seventeen, and ran your fingers through his thick hair, held his head three years later because it was beaten and bruised, unconscious, and told the doctors of what you found there, held his head because he was asleep and you were twenty-three and you had time to glory in every eyelash and the thin, olive skin, held his head because he was sad, and he needed your lap, needed you, held his head because he was throwing up all the pain he tried to swallow with port wine, knowing he would still wake up tomorrow with dead eyes and just as much pain as yesterday, held his head two years later, drunk again, making sure he was still alive, 3 am, getting in your car and going out to find him because of text message that woke you up, your love, alone in his room, two years later, twenty-seven, you weep but he doesn't know, you wait for him to fall asleep cradling his precious head in your hands.
You have never known real guilt. How it lasts, how it remains, how it cripples, how it haunts. It stains the very marrow of your soul, never to be cleansed, not really.
I don't wish that you had known these things, I just wish that I hadn't, either, or that I could find a way back to you again through these winding dark forests of separation. Then again, maybe you got lost on purpose? And who am I to change the way things are?
I didn't (still don't) know how to find you. I was lost.
Each of our pains and sorrows create a unique landscape of suffering in our minds and hearts. I don't mind it. I want to share it.
You have never fought to protect your little shrunken soul from a battering, from bricks and knives and weight, pressure so heavy you struggle to breath, forgetting its absence. You have never been scared of violence. Not really.
You have never prayed to God that you have always trusted for the life of your best friend only to watch him die slowly, with such pain. The body stays strong, but the soul, the man, he dies. You watch him, praying the whole time, terrified of what will happen, to him, to you. Absolute terror takes over and controls your life. Eventually you stop praying and succumb to the fear, listening as it tells you what steps to take and how to feel.
You have never walked with agonizingly slow steps away from a car with a yelling, screaming, raging man in it, still screaming through the closed doors, knowing that he was really just crying, a little crying boy, knowing that it would do no good to cradle his head in your lap, knowing the rage would prevent the tears and any healing found in them.
You have never heard him pray to God, in your car, after a fight, heard his weak voice asking for help, heard the precious tiny amount of hope, begging this unknown God to help him feel his love, a moment of truth, where he humbled himself and asked. This was early on, before. It did not happen again.
You have never held his head because it was so beautiful and you were seventeen, and ran your fingers through his thick hair, held his head three years later because it was beaten and bruised, unconscious, and told the doctors of what you found there, held his head because he was asleep and you were twenty-three and you had time to glory in every eyelash and the thin, olive skin, held his head because he was sad, and he needed your lap, needed you, held his head because he was throwing up all the pain he tried to swallow with port wine, knowing he would still wake up tomorrow with dead eyes and just as much pain as yesterday, held his head two years later, drunk again, making sure he was still alive, 3 am, getting in your car and going out to find him because of text message that woke you up, your love, alone in his room, two years later, twenty-seven, you weep but he doesn't know, you wait for him to fall asleep cradling his precious head in your hands.
You have never known real guilt. How it lasts, how it remains, how it cripples, how it haunts. It stains the very marrow of your soul, never to be cleansed, not really.
I don't wish that you had known these things, I just wish that I hadn't, either, or that I could find a way back to you again through these winding dark forests of separation. Then again, maybe you got lost on purpose? And who am I to change the way things are?
I didn't (still don't) know how to find you. I was lost.
Each of our pains and sorrows create a unique landscape of suffering in our minds and hearts. I don't mind it. I want to share it.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Wisdom from the wreckage.
I'm sitting here at my desk, in my office, at work. I have a tall to-go cup of Haitian coffee that Cameron made for me this morning. When we woke up, we moved around each other silently, trading spots in the bathroom, assessing the day, the light, the temperature. I got ready for work... black pants and a scarf, yellow shirt. Finally I made it into the kitchen, eyes open for the first time. I told her that I got in to PA school, she told me she was taking the job in Georgia.
We both know that this life is a breath, and we have a few short years to serve and to love and to glorify God and be his servants. We will all be together someday when our work is done. In the meantime, there is so much to do, and a clear path to run in. It sure is nice when someone is running next to you, a blessing, but sometimes you run alone. We both know that...
It was quiet and calm. Happy, and quiet and calm. We quickly talked about scheduling for tonite, and I went out into that weird white light of the day.
I love her so much.
We both know that this life is a breath, and we have a few short years to serve and to love and to glorify God and be his servants. We will all be together someday when our work is done. In the meantime, there is so much to do, and a clear path to run in. It sure is nice when someone is running next to you, a blessing, but sometimes you run alone. We both know that...
It was quiet and calm. Happy, and quiet and calm. We quickly talked about scheduling for tonite, and I went out into that weird white light of the day.
I love her so much.
Monday, November 21, 2011
?
Admidst rampant self-directed accusations of adolescent narcissism, I wonder sometimes with gravely furrowed brow whether or not, somewhere out in the wide world, there is someone like me.
Kept me up half the night.
Kept me up half the night.
Monday, November 07, 2011
shaking head sadly
ITEM: I will learn to knit if it kills me, any respectable person knows how to knit.
ITEM: So Jordan does this thing. When Lincoln has already/is currently doing something he should not be doing...and its too late to get to him to stop him...like, he's pouring dirt out of a pot onto the porch. She has this tone. She says, in this tone, like, its too late and its so sad and over already that i don't even really care about the instructing part OR really think that its going to teach him anything but hell we must keep up at least some pretense of control and insight and calm didactic motherhood so "Lincoln, noooo-noo-noo. Nooo. NO." Then listlessly, "...noooo...."
It's hilarious. Anyways.
ITEM: I got an interview with Lincoln Memorial. So exciting. However now I am unsure of their credentials. Hm. Still exciting. Somebody wants me! Maybe!
ITEM: Scotch and Soda. A store in other places of the world. My friend Eduard's brother opened one in Hamburg, where they live, and he told me about. I proceeded to google, and damn, i like their style.
ITEM: I miss taking pictures, i miss meeting new people, i miss seeing new things, i miss being challenged in ways that are scary and intense, i miss good food, i miss Patrick, i miss being dirty and tired, i miss buying cheap cigarettes, i miss masala tea, i miss colors, i miss the sun/heat, i miss taxis, i miss being heartbroken, at least heartbroken for others instead of myself, i miss romance. All kinds of romance. Of places and people and things and music and objects and scenes and children and religions and times of the day. Damnit.
ITEM: I must aquire a khaki tank top. Soon.
ITEM: We had our first fall band practice last night, it kind of sucked but was nice to be with the four most precious guys ever again.
ITEM: I have an idea for a blog...i'm excited about it. Cam and Jordan and Chris W. are excited too, and those people are like TOPS in my book, so that makes me even more excited.
ITEM: JPH and I may go to Harry's today, it will be my first time at this new deli- although not my first time in the that space, as I used to enjoy Harold's kosher food in my younger days semi-regularly.
ITEM: Got to get my shit together! Need brain room. Need thinking time. Need calmness. Need space to have calmness. House is not calm, house is full of fucking mice. Huh. Probly literally. DAmn. Anyhow must make space/time continuum for thinking. TOMORROW I WILL DO THIS
ITEM: If anyone finds a solid SOLID gray short-haired kitten, please deposit on my front porch in a secure box. But with air holes. Thank you.
ITEM: So Jordan does this thing. When Lincoln has already/is currently doing something he should not be doing...and its too late to get to him to stop him...like, he's pouring dirt out of a pot onto the porch. She has this tone. She says, in this tone, like, its too late and its so sad and over already that i don't even really care about the instructing part OR really think that its going to teach him anything but hell we must keep up at least some pretense of control and insight and calm didactic motherhood so "Lincoln, noooo-noo-noo. Nooo. NO." Then listlessly, "...noooo...."
It's hilarious. Anyways.
ITEM: I got an interview with Lincoln Memorial. So exciting. However now I am unsure of their credentials. Hm. Still exciting. Somebody wants me! Maybe!
ITEM: Scotch and Soda. A store in other places of the world. My friend Eduard's brother opened one in Hamburg, where they live, and he told me about. I proceeded to google, and damn, i like their style.
ITEM: I miss taking pictures, i miss meeting new people, i miss seeing new things, i miss being challenged in ways that are scary and intense, i miss good food, i miss Patrick, i miss being dirty and tired, i miss buying cheap cigarettes, i miss masala tea, i miss colors, i miss the sun/heat, i miss taxis, i miss being heartbroken, at least heartbroken for others instead of myself, i miss romance. All kinds of romance. Of places and people and things and music and objects and scenes and children and religions and times of the day. Damnit.
ITEM: I must aquire a khaki tank top. Soon.
ITEM: We had our first fall band practice last night, it kind of sucked but was nice to be with the four most precious guys ever again.
ITEM: I have an idea for a blog...i'm excited about it. Cam and Jordan and Chris W. are excited too, and those people are like TOPS in my book, so that makes me even more excited.
ITEM: JPH and I may go to Harry's today, it will be my first time at this new deli- although not my first time in the that space, as I used to enjoy Harold's kosher food in my younger days semi-regularly.
ITEM: Got to get my shit together! Need brain room. Need thinking time. Need calmness. Need space to have calmness. House is not calm, house is full of fucking mice. Huh. Probly literally. DAmn. Anyhow must make space/time continuum for thinking. TOMORROW I WILL DO THIS
ITEM: If anyone finds a solid SOLID gray short-haired kitten, please deposit on my front porch in a secure box. But with air holes. Thank you.
Friday, October 14, 2011
titles suck
Sitting here on the 4th floor of the nap park hostel in bangkok. I recommend it, if anybody ever comes. Its super posh...kind of shocking really. Everything is clean and sparkling and stylish... gardens and espresso and computers and tile and poured concrete and white linens and gardens and smoking spots and sitting areas and candles and dark wood everywhere. Oh and a bunch of fucking hipsters, the only downfall. Wait, is that me?
Reflecting on the last week... I started to reflect on the last 5 weeks but then i had to forcibly stop myself by thinking about trees and stuff so that I wouldn't freak out. I am emotionally solid as a rock right now due to said behavior. Never give in, Natalie, never think about it all, it will kill you, you will die. (HTC evo vs. the iphone 4 video. priceless. "You have killed me, I am dead. Now my goddam cat is homeless.")
October 11th...I got up early. Too early. Too early for staying up late drinking with refugees. Dangit. But there was work to do, so. You learn real quick that you just gotta do what you gotta do. Including drinking, ad infinitum. Also working. Katie and I made friends with our hostel owner in Kuala Lumpur...his name is Patrick Jones, super awesome guy. He was concerned about our attending the refugee protest and gave us a twenty minute lecture. How to get out of a crowd by going sideways, not forwards or backwards, how to keep an eye out for trouble, how rubber bullets can actually pierce the skin, how 999 people can be peaceful and one kid throw a rock or bottle and BAM. Things go nuts. "This is not america," he said. He gave us his cell phone number and said he had friends in the police if we were to get arrested. He would come and get us.
My friend Sang Hre writes a blog for the Chin... and due to his taking off work on Monday to take Katie and I four hours away to interview plantation workers, he had to work the day of the protest. He asked me to do his other job for him. He had planned to interview the leaders of the Kachin tribe and write an article on them and the protest. "Will you do it?"
We were bestowed gorgeous Chin scarves, or Lai Zal, to wear. I took my camera, my little notebook, my best pen. There were police and cars and people and journalists and children and yelling and signs and onlookers and us. People wanted their picture taken with us that we didn't know. I guess having americans present lends legitimacy to your cause... and isn't that sad? Americans... people outside don't know how little we care about them and with what enormity we care about ourselves.
Afterwards we returned to the Chin Refugee Center (CRC) and I helped my friend Sang Bawi (sounds like "song boy") edit some appeal letters for people coming in trying to get their refugee status I.D. cards from the UN. The person sat on a chair in front of me. I sat at a computer and hurriedly typed things like "With the frequency of raids and detentions increasing, my family is in desperate need of your protection. We beg you to please assist us." Etc. The UN wants the letters in English. Cause all refugees speak English. Of course. Eventually the Kachin leaders showed up, five men. They sat in a semi-circle in front of me. I got out my notebook. I asked them basic questions, and they gave me complex answers. I wished Anna Laura or Jonathan were there. I wished Jordan was there. I wished anybody was there but me, honestly. I have never felt more inadequate in my life. Maybe.
My notes from that interview are funny. Not literally. There are scribbles recording how many have been raped, how many have been murdered, how many are hiding, how many are starving. Since last June. They also gave me details of cease-fire agreements, how much money the Chinese have invested in the dam project, how the NGO's are being kept out, how desperate they are for the 40,000 people in the jungle to get aid, to get food. They looked at me and said, "40,000 of our people are going to starve to death of the burmese don't withdraw their troops. Can you tell your government?" They said that they have had an alliance with the United States since world war two. I didn't tell them that we hesitate to upset the chinese, that we only care about larger people groups, that we are interested in oil. I just kept taking notes.
After that I ran down with the CRC boss and co-boss, Henry and Sang Bawi, to grab some lunch. Henry paid, of course he did, he always pays, the refugee for the american, cause that makes sense. We ran back up in time for me to edit some more letters while Katie and Sang Bawi interviewed a man named Dawt Cung. (Dot Choong). Dawt Cung just got out of jail in burma and escaped to KL. He got there last week...he was in jail for 8 years. He is twenty-seven. I tried to ignore them and just type away on my computer...but when he was describing being tortured by water-boarding i couldn't help but listen a little. I tried really hard not to. I stopped listening when he went on to the other forms of torture. I saw Katie getting more and more stoic in her questions and I realized she was being affected. Thats what she does when its happening. I learned that a while ago about her. Oh and btdubs, Dawt Cung was arrested on accident. I left, I went back to the hostel, I got a coke, got out my computer, wrote my article.
I found out later that after the man left, both Katie and Sang Bawi went outside and cried, together.
I came back at 5:45pm, in time to go with Sang Hre and Katie to interview our last family, a woman named Ellie and her two girls, ages 16 and 17. Their whole apartment was a room about 8 X 8, no furniture. Their father died of malaria in Burma. (It is so fucking ridiculous, i might add here, that anyone ever die of malaria. Ever.) Ellie was taken by the burmese soldiers to be a forced laborer many times over the years after her husband died. She had to leave her little girls with relatives. They (the girls) cried telling us about when the soldiers came and took their mom. Ellie said of all the forced labor she had ever done, portering was the hardest. Carrying extremely heavy loads for miles up and down mountains, given no food, having to pee on yourself. Ellie reminds me of Cathy Pool so much, in the face. Same spirit. We asked them what it was like escaping to KL...I guess I didn't realize it was what it was. They put boards in shelf form in the back of a van and make people lie down and squeeze in as tight as possible. They are not given hardly any food or allowed to make any noise. They had to walk for two days through the jungle and then in the van for nine more days. The drivers are paid to deliver, and they are not nice. They hit with sticks if anyone makes any noise. The girls were eleven and thirteen at the time. I asked Ellie if she ever regretted coming here. She began to cry, softly, quietly. She said no. If they had stayed, she knows she would have died. But when she looks at her girls...she is heartbroken. They fear the police, they cannot attend school, they have no hope for the future. I cried too, couldn't help it, I tried.
When we left she said thank you for honoring us with your presence. Pray for us, she said.
By this time it was pretty late, maybe nine-thirty or so. We were hungry, we had kinda forgot about supper. Me and Kate and Sang Hre went to a chinese restaurant down the street. Sang Hre kept acting like he was in a hurry.
Sang Hre is handsome, has dimples, and very stylish jeans. He works as an interpreter for IRC, as well as being on staff at the CRC. He works seven days a week, all day and into the night. He is really smart and really funny. Me and Katie have a crush on him. He reads the times, the washington post, bbc, cnn, and newsweek. He is very stubborn. He is an assistant to both the boss and co-boss at CRC, Henry and Sang Bawi. The three of them are very good friends. I put a pic on fb if you want to see.
Sang Hre was in a hurry because he knew that Henry and Sang Bawi were waiting for us at a karyoke bar. Duh. All three of these guys work like there is no tomorrow to help their people. Henry, as the coordinator, has his cell phone as the hotline number on the back of 12,000 refugee's I.D. cards. He keeps it on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. They could make a lot more money elsewhere, but they feel called by God to help their people. So they work. And they play. We laughed all week hanging out with them. I have never been more impressed, more inspired, and more ashamed. They are humble and giving and tough as fucking nails. They have to be. I love them so much. God I love them all so very much.
I know, longest blog post ever, right? I just wanted to write it down, that day. I feel better now. Which is the point, right? Traveling really fucks with your brain. I'm so happy to be here.
Reflecting on the last week... I started to reflect on the last 5 weeks but then i had to forcibly stop myself by thinking about trees and stuff so that I wouldn't freak out. I am emotionally solid as a rock right now due to said behavior. Never give in, Natalie, never think about it all, it will kill you, you will die. (HTC evo vs. the iphone 4 video. priceless. "You have killed me, I am dead. Now my goddam cat is homeless.")
October 11th...I got up early. Too early. Too early for staying up late drinking with refugees. Dangit. But there was work to do, so. You learn real quick that you just gotta do what you gotta do. Including drinking, ad infinitum. Also working. Katie and I made friends with our hostel owner in Kuala Lumpur...his name is Patrick Jones, super awesome guy. He was concerned about our attending the refugee protest and gave us a twenty minute lecture. How to get out of a crowd by going sideways, not forwards or backwards, how to keep an eye out for trouble, how rubber bullets can actually pierce the skin, how 999 people can be peaceful and one kid throw a rock or bottle and BAM. Things go nuts. "This is not america," he said. He gave us his cell phone number and said he had friends in the police if we were to get arrested. He would come and get us.
My friend Sang Hre writes a blog for the Chin... and due to his taking off work on Monday to take Katie and I four hours away to interview plantation workers, he had to work the day of the protest. He asked me to do his other job for him. He had planned to interview the leaders of the Kachin tribe and write an article on them and the protest. "Will you do it?"
We were bestowed gorgeous Chin scarves, or Lai Zal, to wear. I took my camera, my little notebook, my best pen. There were police and cars and people and journalists and children and yelling and signs and onlookers and us. People wanted their picture taken with us that we didn't know. I guess having americans present lends legitimacy to your cause... and isn't that sad? Americans... people outside don't know how little we care about them and with what enormity we care about ourselves.
Afterwards we returned to the Chin Refugee Center (CRC) and I helped my friend Sang Bawi (sounds like "song boy") edit some appeal letters for people coming in trying to get their refugee status I.D. cards from the UN. The person sat on a chair in front of me. I sat at a computer and hurriedly typed things like "With the frequency of raids and detentions increasing, my family is in desperate need of your protection. We beg you to please assist us." Etc. The UN wants the letters in English. Cause all refugees speak English. Of course. Eventually the Kachin leaders showed up, five men. They sat in a semi-circle in front of me. I got out my notebook. I asked them basic questions, and they gave me complex answers. I wished Anna Laura or Jonathan were there. I wished Jordan was there. I wished anybody was there but me, honestly. I have never felt more inadequate in my life. Maybe.
My notes from that interview are funny. Not literally. There are scribbles recording how many have been raped, how many have been murdered, how many are hiding, how many are starving. Since last June. They also gave me details of cease-fire agreements, how much money the Chinese have invested in the dam project, how the NGO's are being kept out, how desperate they are for the 40,000 people in the jungle to get aid, to get food. They looked at me and said, "40,000 of our people are going to starve to death of the burmese don't withdraw their troops. Can you tell your government?" They said that they have had an alliance with the United States since world war two. I didn't tell them that we hesitate to upset the chinese, that we only care about larger people groups, that we are interested in oil. I just kept taking notes.
After that I ran down with the CRC boss and co-boss, Henry and Sang Bawi, to grab some lunch. Henry paid, of course he did, he always pays, the refugee for the american, cause that makes sense. We ran back up in time for me to edit some more letters while Katie and Sang Bawi interviewed a man named Dawt Cung. (Dot Choong). Dawt Cung just got out of jail in burma and escaped to KL. He got there last week...he was in jail for 8 years. He is twenty-seven. I tried to ignore them and just type away on my computer...but when he was describing being tortured by water-boarding i couldn't help but listen a little. I tried really hard not to. I stopped listening when he went on to the other forms of torture. I saw Katie getting more and more stoic in her questions and I realized she was being affected. Thats what she does when its happening. I learned that a while ago about her. Oh and btdubs, Dawt Cung was arrested on accident. I left, I went back to the hostel, I got a coke, got out my computer, wrote my article.
I found out later that after the man left, both Katie and Sang Bawi went outside and cried, together.
I came back at 5:45pm, in time to go with Sang Hre and Katie to interview our last family, a woman named Ellie and her two girls, ages 16 and 17. Their whole apartment was a room about 8 X 8, no furniture. Their father died of malaria in Burma. (It is so fucking ridiculous, i might add here, that anyone ever die of malaria. Ever.) Ellie was taken by the burmese soldiers to be a forced laborer many times over the years after her husband died. She had to leave her little girls with relatives. They (the girls) cried telling us about when the soldiers came and took their mom. Ellie said of all the forced labor she had ever done, portering was the hardest. Carrying extremely heavy loads for miles up and down mountains, given no food, having to pee on yourself. Ellie reminds me of Cathy Pool so much, in the face. Same spirit. We asked them what it was like escaping to KL...I guess I didn't realize it was what it was. They put boards in shelf form in the back of a van and make people lie down and squeeze in as tight as possible. They are not given hardly any food or allowed to make any noise. They had to walk for two days through the jungle and then in the van for nine more days. The drivers are paid to deliver, and they are not nice. They hit with sticks if anyone makes any noise. The girls were eleven and thirteen at the time. I asked Ellie if she ever regretted coming here. She began to cry, softly, quietly. She said no. If they had stayed, she knows she would have died. But when she looks at her girls...she is heartbroken. They fear the police, they cannot attend school, they have no hope for the future. I cried too, couldn't help it, I tried.
When we left she said thank you for honoring us with your presence. Pray for us, she said.
By this time it was pretty late, maybe nine-thirty or so. We were hungry, we had kinda forgot about supper. Me and Kate and Sang Hre went to a chinese restaurant down the street. Sang Hre kept acting like he was in a hurry.
Sang Hre is handsome, has dimples, and very stylish jeans. He works as an interpreter for IRC, as well as being on staff at the CRC. He works seven days a week, all day and into the night. He is really smart and really funny. Me and Katie have a crush on him. He reads the times, the washington post, bbc, cnn, and newsweek. He is very stubborn. He is an assistant to both the boss and co-boss at CRC, Henry and Sang Bawi. The three of them are very good friends. I put a pic on fb if you want to see.
Sang Hre was in a hurry because he knew that Henry and Sang Bawi were waiting for us at a karyoke bar. Duh. All three of these guys work like there is no tomorrow to help their people. Henry, as the coordinator, has his cell phone as the hotline number on the back of 12,000 refugee's I.D. cards. He keeps it on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. They could make a lot more money elsewhere, but they feel called by God to help their people. So they work. And they play. We laughed all week hanging out with them. I have never been more impressed, more inspired, and more ashamed. They are humble and giving and tough as fucking nails. They have to be. I love them so much. God I love them all so very much.
I know, longest blog post ever, right? I just wanted to write it down, that day. I feel better now. Which is the point, right? Traveling really fucks with your brain. I'm so happy to be here.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Everything is different now, and I hate it
LIST of FEARS
I started with just LIST but then realized the list in my mind was specific, so i changed it.
1. Art show this friday night. I am scared to death and regretting oh so much the
decision to do music what in the HELL was i thinking really? I have two (2)
paintings/drawings to make before tomorrow night. Let me repeat that. Before
tomorrow night. No bd tho really, I mean my art show co-hort, Eric, is taking
Sam's adderall to finish his stuff. I can do it without adderall. I guess I need espresso.
Or something.
2. Scheduling. I leave for Hawaii on August 20. I leave for the rest of the world on September
10th. All my school apps are due either on September or October 1st. Which means they should really
all be in like, now. I'm trying. To not be overwhelmed by the fact that this is my FUTURE we are
filling out forms for. So that leaves me with, like, next week, to get them all in. Gr8.
3. Money. I need more. I have none, currently, I am in the hole way down in the hole, and I need more
for bills and such while i am gone, and I need more for plane tickets, and I need more for flip flops, and
I need more for a headlamp, and I need more for KUB, and I need more for my school apps. Hundreds
and thousands more than I have. How? When?
4. The Future. I am applying at a lot of places. I have no hope of getting in anywhere. My life is a failure, a waste, and a ruin. I will never be a PA. At least not today.
5. My brain. It worries me. I need more brain meds and can't get them until my appointment on August 30th. Then in order to get a months worth of meds to take on my trip, I will somehow need to get $300.00 for those 8 pills. If I want to pay less and get meds from Canada, it will take 6 weeks for them to get here. I cant wait that long.
6. Relationships. They make me sad and afraid. My relationship with Lincoln makes me happy. That is the only one.
7. Sickness in foreign countries.
8. Marriage.
I don't know why I feel compelled to freak out here on the internet. I think it just makes me feel better to make a list and send it somewhere. Anyhow.
Soon I will make a list about better things.
I started with just LIST but then realized the list in my mind was specific, so i changed it.
1. Art show this friday night. I am scared to death and regretting oh so much the
decision to do music what in the HELL was i thinking really? I have two (2)
paintings/drawings to make before tomorrow night. Let me repeat that. Before
tomorrow night. No bd tho really, I mean my art show co-hort, Eric, is taking
Sam's adderall to finish his stuff. I can do it without adderall. I guess I need espresso.
Or something.
2. Scheduling. I leave for Hawaii on August 20. I leave for the rest of the world on September
10th. All my school apps are due either on September or October 1st. Which means they should really
all be in like, now. I'm trying. To not be overwhelmed by the fact that this is my FUTURE we are
filling out forms for. So that leaves me with, like, next week, to get them all in. Gr8.
3. Money. I need more. I have none, currently, I am in the hole way down in the hole, and I need more
for bills and such while i am gone, and I need more for plane tickets, and I need more for flip flops, and
I need more for a headlamp, and I need more for KUB, and I need more for my school apps. Hundreds
and thousands more than I have. How? When?
4. The Future. I am applying at a lot of places. I have no hope of getting in anywhere. My life is a failure, a waste, and a ruin. I will never be a PA. At least not today.
5. My brain. It worries me. I need more brain meds and can't get them until my appointment on August 30th. Then in order to get a months worth of meds to take on my trip, I will somehow need to get $300.00 for those 8 pills. If I want to pay less and get meds from Canada, it will take 6 weeks for them to get here. I cant wait that long.
6. Relationships. They make me sad and afraid. My relationship with Lincoln makes me happy. That is the only one.
7. Sickness in foreign countries.
8. Marriage.
I don't know why I feel compelled to freak out here on the internet. I think it just makes me feel better to make a list and send it somewhere. Anyhow.
Soon I will make a list about better things.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Effing Editing
I have just begun to delve into these photos from the wedding. And can i just say.
If I find one more where some random groomsman is looking at the FOREST instead of at me
I will personally hunt him down and bring regret, deep abiding regret, to his life FOREVER
for that moment when he chose to not look at the fucking camera.
If I find one more where some random groomsman is looking at the FOREST instead of at me
I will personally hunt him down and bring regret, deep abiding regret, to his life FOREVER
for that moment when he chose to not look at the fucking camera.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Surprise
I tend to feel more positive in the mornings, but:
This morning I got up, fan whirring over my head
went and got my shoes
opened the door and went outside
kinda misty out there and I got my watering buckets
watered the flowers and the basil and the potatoes and the succulents
then out to the garden and I watered the peppers and the tomatoes
and the watermelon and cantaloupe
and the squash, several squashes
I used one bucket to put raspberries in and there were so many, again
Patrick finally showed up and I said hi, hey there, bastard cat (affection)
and we went in and made coffee and opened a new box of cheerios and
new milk, and i had raspberries and cheerios and he had dry particles
and i have wdvx turned up pretty loud
and a keep looking over at my painting yet to be painted but with some
serious background already done
and I am successfully not thinking about money
or Africa, school or men, or even KUB for that matter
thank god
and the coffee is really good, so.
This morning I got up, fan whirring over my head
went and got my shoes
opened the door and went outside
kinda misty out there and I got my watering buckets
watered the flowers and the basil and the potatoes and the succulents
then out to the garden and I watered the peppers and the tomatoes
and the watermelon and cantaloupe
and the squash, several squashes
I used one bucket to put raspberries in and there were so many, again
Patrick finally showed up and I said hi, hey there, bastard cat (affection)
and we went in and made coffee and opened a new box of cheerios and
new milk, and i had raspberries and cheerios and he had dry particles
and i have wdvx turned up pretty loud
and a keep looking over at my painting yet to be painted but with some
serious background already done
and I am successfully not thinking about money
or Africa, school or men, or even KUB for that matter
thank god
and the coffee is really good, so.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
I think
its interesting
that Republic Parking hires a person, usually a woman, to stand out in the weather next to the little awkward gate at the entrance to the parking garage in the bowels of my office building to simply say, "Good morning!" to every person that rolls down their window to swipe their overpriced parking pass before zooming up 3 floors to park and start their workday.
I am filled with compassion and respect for the person every morning. And sometimes annoyance, if they seem too happy for that totally shit job. ... ... ...
that Republic Parking hires a person, usually a woman, to stand out in the weather next to the little awkward gate at the entrance to the parking garage in the bowels of my office building to simply say, "Good morning!" to every person that rolls down their window to swipe their overpriced parking pass before zooming up 3 floors to park and start their workday.
I am filled with compassion and respect for the person every morning. And sometimes annoyance, if they seem too happy for that totally shit job. ... ... ...
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
sheesh
I did pray i DID but even so and even with-
I am hurt today because someone doesn't want me- and maybe they shouldn't, and maybe i wouldn't either if i was them- somehow that has not helped
I think it would help if someone did, i know this is a terrible way to think-
but you young ones listen to me. Really wanting someone is so much more than just thinking you want them, isn't it. For someone to really want you, they must have the capacity to want you more than they want themselves, and more, the ability to want Jesus more than they want you....and if they don't have that capacity, then they can't really want you. Are you listening to me?
It helps somehow just to reflect on something true- on one true thing- its truth is so comforting, a v. small island in the midst of the tossing sea....
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
I am really just torn
today about all this ash business. Its so lovely and dark and gray and so very foggy outside...its seems nice to think of Jesus and repentance and ashes and all that...I want the stuff on my forehead! I can't believe I have to wait till 5:15 for it. BUT
Really what in the hell? Special repentance day? What about yesterday? Special fasting days? What about next fall when you are in a serious state with some aspect of life and god and you need to hear? You need to clean out? To be closer? Or last week? What about last week? Isn't fasting something we should do in response to the immediate call of God? Not that he can't call today. I guess I just think we should be careful about letting structure take the place of the prompting of the Holy Spirit. I mean, obviously. We all know that.
I know, I know, logic and all that, its good to have special times, just like birthdays don't mean you aren't special every other day of the year.. so I have a bad attitude towards traditions sometimes... Honestly if we could have an ash Wednesday service that involved liturgy and ashes and repentance and also an hour long ambient worship service where I could lay on my face, pray and/or dance? That would be stellar.
Really what in the hell? Special repentance day? What about yesterday? Special fasting days? What about next fall when you are in a serious state with some aspect of life and god and you need to hear? You need to clean out? To be closer? Or last week? What about last week? Isn't fasting something we should do in response to the immediate call of God? Not that he can't call today. I guess I just think we should be careful about letting structure take the place of the prompting of the Holy Spirit. I mean, obviously. We all know that.
I know, I know, logic and all that, its good to have special times, just like birthdays don't mean you aren't special every other day of the year.. so I have a bad attitude towards traditions sometimes... Honestly if we could have an ash Wednesday service that involved liturgy and ashes and repentance and also an hour long ambient worship service where I could lay on my face, pray and/or dance? That would be stellar.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I have
started reading Mountains Beyond Mountains today.
Oh Lord.
Ya'll do it, you'll enjoy it. And it's real inter-esting.
They got it at that there amazon.com, I hear tell.
Oh Lord.
Ya'll do it, you'll enjoy it. And it's real inter-esting.
They got it at that there amazon.com, I hear tell.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Its friday again.
Today is that same day that comes every week somehow intrinsically designed to make me feel awful.
I have no strength left (did i ever) with which to face the possibilities of relationships. There is not enough courage or faith, not enough gumption or confidence, not enough lust for adventure left in my soul to warrant me trying. Or to warrant even being around, really.
Likely that I should stop giving off the impression that I am available for friendship. I want to be, and I know in my mind that is what a healthy person does, and so I pretend that I am there and available for relationship with you, with him, with her.
But I am not really. I don’t even really mean it, deep in my heart, when I talk to you.
I am crippled generally by a lot of things, but one of them is fear that people do not like me. It is not unfounded. Sometimes, perhaps even often, I am unlikable. I do not like walking into a room full of people and talking to various ones of them. I hate it. I do not like meeting people, I do not like talking over beer with my friends. I am afraid that they will not like me. I do not enjoy being alone, and I do not enjoy being with people. I would like, so much, to have a friend.
I also do not understand how I can love people and they can just not love me back? How does this work? How can I stop? I’ve got to stop.
Anyone that might be tempted to take this seriously please do not, because I do mean it quite seriously and it will be just another burden to keep everyone happy should you decide to become concerned. I of course will keep trying to live and love and be loved just the same as before. What else would I do? This is it. And none of this is anything new.
#brutal honesty
I have no strength left (did i ever) with which to face the possibilities of relationships. There is not enough courage or faith, not enough gumption or confidence, not enough lust for adventure left in my soul to warrant me trying. Or to warrant even being around, really.
Likely that I should stop giving off the impression that I am available for friendship. I want to be, and I know in my mind that is what a healthy person does, and so I pretend that I am there and available for relationship with you, with him, with her.
But I am not really. I don’t even really mean it, deep in my heart, when I talk to you.
I am crippled generally by a lot of things, but one of them is fear that people do not like me. It is not unfounded. Sometimes, perhaps even often, I am unlikable. I do not like walking into a room full of people and talking to various ones of them. I hate it. I do not like meeting people, I do not like talking over beer with my friends. I am afraid that they will not like me. I do not enjoy being alone, and I do not enjoy being with people. I would like, so much, to have a friend.
I also do not understand how I can love people and they can just not love me back? How does this work? How can I stop? I’ve got to stop.
Anyone that might be tempted to take this seriously please do not, because I do mean it quite seriously and it will be just another burden to keep everyone happy should you decide to become concerned. I of course will keep trying to live and love and be loved just the same as before. What else would I do? This is it. And none of this is anything new.
#brutal honesty
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Saturday, February 05, 2011
Tonite and also yesterday.
Sometimes, (all the time)
when i am thinking about it, (consciously)
I feel very alone.
(Like I am pretending at life, like the notes and pictures pinned on my wall are mocking, like the forest where there is no one to hear the tree fall, like I must be louder and more colorful to even be able to see myself and believe that I am real, and that I matter.)
Tonite in particular no one knows
what I am doing or if I am doing at all,
my parents just drove away concerned by this same knowledge, bless their hearts,
and I want to go see The King's Speech
but Patrick is too small and too wiggly
and I want someone to go with me in the car
and to hold my hand
to talk about the movie with me tomorrow when they remember a thought they had about it;
I would love and cherish that thought so very much.
Instead I will make a plan for what to do-
when i am thinking about it, (consciously)
I feel very alone.
(Like I am pretending at life, like the notes and pictures pinned on my wall are mocking, like the forest where there is no one to hear the tree fall, like I must be louder and more colorful to even be able to see myself and believe that I am real, and that I matter.)
Tonite in particular no one knows
what I am doing or if I am doing at all,
my parents just drove away concerned by this same knowledge, bless their hearts,
and I want to go see The King's Speech
but Patrick is too small and too wiggly
and I want someone to go with me in the car
and to hold my hand
to talk about the movie with me tomorrow when they remember a thought they had about it;
I would love and cherish that thought so very much.
Instead I will make a plan for what to do-
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
I'm thinkin' of you, I'm thinkin' of you...
It's a grey, cold day in Knoxville, I tell you what, groundhogs notwithstanding.
I'm on the phone with the Sevier County Sheriff's Department, speaking with the sweetest little lady...she's having trouble locating the incident report I need. She has "gone to look."
I appreciate organization, order, planning, logistical successes, jobs well done, determination, obstacles overcome and problems solved, so much, and I just now realized it. Weird huh. I even love the process of organizing the obstacles to be overcome, making plans for doing the jobs well, and thinking about the problems to be solved. I love the whole damn process, and I feel slightly bereft in life if I don't have things of this nature to chew on. Maybe that's why I like cigarettes. Nervous slightly bereft energy gone vastly awry.
I'm on the phone with the Sevier County Sheriff's Department, speaking with the sweetest little lady...she's having trouble locating the incident report I need. She has "gone to look."
I appreciate organization, order, planning, logistical successes, jobs well done, determination, obstacles overcome and problems solved, so much, and I just now realized it. Weird huh. I even love the process of organizing the obstacles to be overcome, making plans for doing the jobs well, and thinking about the problems to be solved. I love the whole damn process, and I feel slightly bereft in life if I don't have things of this nature to chew on. Maybe that's why I like cigarettes. Nervous slightly bereft energy gone vastly awry.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Friday, January 07, 2011
so yea
This is all like, a weird time for this. Seein' as i am leaving work in 22 minutes to frantically rush around doing laundry and packing and food for all ing and going to Haiti tomorrow. But I want to post something I ran across on teh internets. I googled "reasons to be pro-choice" while sitting here this afternoon, because i want to do some general sociological digging, and find out what the peeps are thinking. And by peeps i mean our culture. What are we thinking? Why are we thinking it? These questions are generally fascinating to me. I am one-hundred percent anti-choice, and also consider myself to be a bit of a feminist, so in quiet times here at work I read what people think about things that think them differently from me, to see if maybe perhaps I am wrong, or if maybe perhaps my perspective is small, or needs adjusting, which is surely always the case at least on some level. Especially when I feel very strongly about something. Then I check and re-check.
Anyhow I haven't gotten far in my research, and I intend to do more. But I did find someone's list of 10 reasons to be pro-choice, and this is number nine.
Anyhow.
I want to go to medical school for many reasons, but one of them is so that I can enable women to be more informed about their reproductive health, and be more capable and enabled to make decisions about when to have sex, and with whom. I don't want to make it harder, I want to make it easier. Next.
I work every day to further the progress towards gender equality we have made over the last century. With my life, with my words, with my attempts at objectivity. I shudder at the thought of reversing that progress. Next.
Yeah, I want to be a second class citizen. That sounds GREAT. Next.
Yeah, I want to be submissive to men. You all, who know me, you know I do. So much. NEXT.
Hmmm... the culture of life. I have been sad, have been divorced, have watched someone I love die, have tried to commit suicide, have drunk to excess to escape the great pain of living, have been very submerged in darkness and negativity and cynicism. And because of my experiences with these things, I will support a fucking culture of life till the day i die. I fight for it every moment. For myself, for others. It is a real thing, it is not rhetoric...at least to me. For many reasons, being pro-life fits into that fight perfectly. At least for me. I talk about it because it is very, very, very important. Not to disguise the "political poison" of my self-imposed, second class citizen opinions.
At this point, the internets have not given me any reasons to be pro-choice. It has given some very bad and inaccurate reasons that people are pro-life. Dunno. Guess I got some more reading to do.
Later taters.
Anyhow I haven't gotten far in my research, and I intend to do more. But I did find someone's list of 10 reasons to be pro-choice, and this is number nine.
9. The abortion issue isn’t really about “protecting the unborn.” If we examine the other positions that usually go along with being anti-choice, and if we talk honestly about them, we discover that criminalizing abortion is really about making it harder for women to make their own choices about when to have sex, and with whom. Criminalizing abortion is really about reversing the progress toward gender equality we’ve made over the last century. It’s about returning women to the status of second-class citizens. The real reason the religious right embraces the anti-choice stance is because they believe women should be submissive to men. But, saying that straight up would be political poison, so they talk about a “culture of life.”
Anyhow.
I want to go to medical school for many reasons, but one of them is so that I can enable women to be more informed about their reproductive health, and be more capable and enabled to make decisions about when to have sex, and with whom. I don't want to make it harder, I want to make it easier. Next.
I work every day to further the progress towards gender equality we have made over the last century. With my life, with my words, with my attempts at objectivity. I shudder at the thought of reversing that progress. Next.
Yeah, I want to be a second class citizen. That sounds GREAT. Next.
Yeah, I want to be submissive to men. You all, who know me, you know I do. So much. NEXT.
Hmmm... the culture of life. I have been sad, have been divorced, have watched someone I love die, have tried to commit suicide, have drunk to excess to escape the great pain of living, have been very submerged in darkness and negativity and cynicism. And because of my experiences with these things, I will support a fucking culture of life till the day i die. I fight for it every moment. For myself, for others. It is a real thing, it is not rhetoric...at least to me. For many reasons, being pro-life fits into that fight perfectly. At least for me. I talk about it because it is very, very, very important. Not to disguise the "political poison" of my self-imposed, second class citizen opinions.
At this point, the internets have not given me any reasons to be pro-choice. It has given some very bad and inaccurate reasons that people are pro-life. Dunno. Guess I got some more reading to do.
Later taters.
so.
Impromptu trip to Haiti. Leavin' tomorrow. Cam'ron has extra seat on plane.
Granola bars
Shoes
Camera
Jeans
Passport
Cash money
Drive to Alabama
Pray i guess huh
Oh damn, some damn bug spray! Shew.
Gonna help in some cholera clinics. Gonna be in PAP for the one year anniversary. Gonna meet some doctors.
You all pray for me please?
Granola bars
Shoes
Camera
Jeans
Passport
Cash money
Drive to Alabama
Pray i guess huh
Oh damn, some damn bug spray! Shew.
Gonna help in some cholera clinics. Gonna be in PAP for the one year anniversary. Gonna meet some doctors.
You all pray for me please?
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