I've had a bad week. One of those weeks where you have a bad day and go to bed upset, or stressed, or angry, and the negativity carries through into the next day, and then the next. And then it's Thursday and you don't know where the time has gone.
Most of the cause was stress from exams- I do not hide the fact that I hate exams. (I started this blog because I hate exams, read some older posts and you'll see.) I felt especially pressured this time around, though, because I am trying to make the best of my education here. High school is different. High school is a requirement, something you love to hate, something you complain about until it's over and you realize that if you had stopped complaining life would have been a lot better. Here, however, I am fortunate beyond belief and I try to remember it every day. I am taking classes I love, learning things I am interested in and trying to do every thing to the best of my ability. But when you have four exams in three days, three of them consisting of two or more essays, and most of them requiring very specific knowledge it can become quite overwhelming. Especially for someone like me who does not perform well under pressure yet has very, very high standards for herself.
The way I see it I am not very talented. I can't sing, I don't dance anymore, and my artwork looks like something that would be cute if I was 8 years old and made it in class for mother's day, but that doesn't quite cut it anymore. This is not a pity party, I am not fishing for compliments about my capabilities. I am simply realistic in my assessment of myself. I am not talented in those respects, but there are things I do well. I love to write, (hence the blog) and I am intelligent. I'm not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed but I work hard and, as I said before, I have very high standards for myself. Around exam week I find myself thinking "I'm not good at anything else, I'm not talented, so I HAVE to do well on my exams because my academics are all I have! If I can't even get an A what am I good for?" Pretty heavy stuff, I know, but who thinks happy thoughts 100% of the time?
I took a study break to go to yoga, thinking that there is no way I could stay stressed through an hour of yoga. Unfortunately, it almost made things worse, as it was one of those days where I just wasn't flexible enough and wasn't strong enough. For the entirety of our savasana meditation I found myself thinking 'This negativity is completely my own, I just have to release it and I will feel better. I just have to want to feel better and I will. I control my own happiness.' It's pretty much the thought process I live by. Yet it just wouldn't work, I couldn't release my negativity. I wanted to complain, I wanted to feel sorry for myself. I stressed myself out more as I studied for my last exam and only made matters worse. So I went to bed, and I couldn't sleep, I had a bad dream and I woke up feeling just as bad as when I went to bed.
A friend of mine told me that happiness is contagious. She said she understood I was stressed, and tired, and frustrated and so on and so forth, and she was sending positive thoughts my way. I thought to myself 'yeah, right' but then realized that while her positive thoughts might not impact on me, my negative ones sure weren't going to help. I took my exam, came home and took a nap, had another bad dream, and then something finally turned my mood around.
A friend of my sister's posted a video on Facebook made in Galway, Ireland (where I happen to have visited this summer and fell in love with). My curiosity got the better of me and I watched all eleven minutes and thirteen seconds of it. Those were the best eleven minutes and thirteen seconds of the last couple days. The video was an interview of fifty different people asking them the simple, but very difficult question "What is your biggest regret?" The subjects ranged from twenty years old to almost eighty years old, and the answers varied from positive to heart breaking. It made me realize that life is so much bigger than three days of exams, bigger than the education you receive in a classroom, bigger than the moments of negativity, bigger than me.
I regret feeling sorry for myself, I regret being in a bad mood for the past couple days, and I regret taking it out on my roommates because they certainly didn't deserve it. I regret letting my emotions get the better of me sometimes, I regret not being there for a friend when she needed me, I regret living so far away from my family (though I love the experience). I regret some things I've done, I regret some things I wasn't brave enough to do. I regret taking anything for granted. I regret regret.
I try to live my life without regret, and though it has been short for the most part I like to think I am successful, for this long list I just made is not my whole life, only small aspects of it that remind me to be better.
What is your biggest regret?
One of the answers on the video was "We regret the things we do not do". Find the truth in that statement and maybe you won't have any regrets either.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Lazy day poetry
I'm no Byron or Keates, but this was on my mind today:
when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed,
go back to bed.
if you're feeling light as lead
rest your weary head,
when things are left unsaid,
say what you should have said
it's only too late when you're already dead.
forget the past and look ahead,
when you're hanging on by a thread
cut the thread,
and weave something new
something stronger to hold you,
when you're feeling blue
and everything else seems blue,
find something worthwhile to pursue
something bright and warm to dive into,
when you don't know what to do
stop thinking- just do
for there is nothing in this life more true
than 'you control you'.
when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed,
go back to bed.
if you're feeling light as lead
rest your weary head,
when things are left unsaid,
say what you should have said
it's only too late when you're already dead.
forget the past and look ahead,
when you're hanging on by a thread
cut the thread,
and weave something new
something stronger to hold you,
when you're feeling blue
and everything else seems blue,
find something worthwhile to pursue
something bright and warm to dive into,
when you don't know what to do
stop thinking- just do
for there is nothing in this life more true
than 'you control you'.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Being a foreigner
Immanuel Kant
Sitting in a classroom again. Once again I'm the new kid.
"I think, therefore I am" Io penso
I learnt this already in high school. It's like an alternate view of the past. I'm back in high school… but in Italy. I understand the topic. I understand the dynamics of this class; eighteen girls trying to impress the teacher and each other. I just don't understand the language. I can pick up words and phrases here and there. It's such a strange sensation, re-learning something you already know in a different setting at a different time in your life… in a different language.
You can only know the 'fisie' (physical) world, but can think about the 'metafisie' (metaphysical)
We are like lab rats. The class hamsters. The new kids; foreign, strange. I'm used to this, but at the same time it's different from any experience I've had before. They can learn as much from us as we can learn from them. And in this classroom we are all eager to learn. Just not about Immanuel Kant.
Knowledge is experience. It is a system of thought.
Eighteen pairs of eyes stare at us. Only two pairs, our foreign eyes, carefully observe the insegnante (teacher).
Everyone has the same capacity for knowledge. Knowledge is universal.
I never studied Kant this in-depth. My high school wasn't specialized. If you wanted speciality in my school, you had to be special. I covered the topic of philosophy briefly in my AP European History class. This class is dedicated to philosophy. This high school is specialized, focused on Psychology education. Every child here already knows that they are learning, in turn, to teach others. They made that decision already, they dedicated their education to this already. At seventeen years old.
The moral: everyone has to follow his "imperative ego" (imperativo categorico). Man is free to follow his moral duty, or to choose not to. The soul is immortal.
They say this teacher is hard. She does not give good grades easily. Some things are international. The desire to know things; about your classmates, about the new girls sitting in the corner, about the topic which you are studying. The desire to do well.
Moral is metaphysical. Experience is physical.
One girl seems to know everything. The other girls role their eyes as she boasts her knowledge. There's always one. My friend and I are diligently taking notes while passing notes to each other. High school. I like the way the Italian girls dress. Some are grunge-y, some are sporty and casual, some are 'preppy'. I had a uniform in high school. You can tell a lot about a person from the way they dress. The girl trying her best to be our translator for this philosophy lesson is wearing jeans and a cut off black T-shirt with a red skull on it and a smart black blazer. Everyone is wearing tight jeans.
Because the existence of God cannot be proven this in itself is evidence that he exists. This is metaphysical.
The bell rings, a sound understood in any language. Yet the girls do not move. In Italy you stay in one classroom all day with the same teacher and the same classmates and the same learning atmosphere.
We are learning about the evolution of education in Italy now. Learning about learning.
After WWII Italy went through a lot of changes: From a monarchy to a democracy. The emerging of the welfare state. Women were allowed to vote after 1946. And an economic boom in the 1960s.
They each take turns teaching us something about their home. They are both proud and embarrassed to practice their English with us. They've been studying English since primary school, but don't get the opportunity to use it often. I am impressed with their attitude towards another language. I envy their ability to combine foreign words to make foreign sentences in a foreign language so that they understand what they are telling us, and make us understand what they are trying to say. I say two sentences to them in Italian.
Write five sentences about George Orwell's Animal Farm from your 'point of you'.
A simple translation error. Mistaking point of view for point of you. We are in English class now. It is such a strange experience seeing my native language taught as a second language. I can't imagine writing something like that in Italian, or any other language. They make some mistakes, I can tell a few things got lost in translation, but I am proud to see the way they regard my language as a challenge worth tackling. I hope to one day write in Italian like I do in English. I hope to string together a random assortment of beautiful words to make a melodious, coherent sentence. And then another, and another, until I write something I can be proud of. I am proud of what I write, proud of my language and how I use it and proud of my attempt to learn another. I can only hope one day to be as proud of my Italian.
Sitting in a classroom again. Once again I'm the new kid.
"I think, therefore I am" Io penso
I learnt this already in high school. It's like an alternate view of the past. I'm back in high school… but in Italy. I understand the topic. I understand the dynamics of this class; eighteen girls trying to impress the teacher and each other. I just don't understand the language. I can pick up words and phrases here and there. It's such a strange sensation, re-learning something you already know in a different setting at a different time in your life… in a different language.
You can only know the 'fisie' (physical) world, but can think about the 'metafisie' (metaphysical)
We are like lab rats. The class hamsters. The new kids; foreign, strange. I'm used to this, but at the same time it's different from any experience I've had before. They can learn as much from us as we can learn from them. And in this classroom we are all eager to learn. Just not about Immanuel Kant.
Knowledge is experience. It is a system of thought.
Eighteen pairs of eyes stare at us. Only two pairs, our foreign eyes, carefully observe the insegnante (teacher).
Everyone has the same capacity for knowledge. Knowledge is universal.
I never studied Kant this in-depth. My high school wasn't specialized. If you wanted speciality in my school, you had to be special. I covered the topic of philosophy briefly in my AP European History class. This class is dedicated to philosophy. This high school is specialized, focused on Psychology education. Every child here already knows that they are learning, in turn, to teach others. They made that decision already, they dedicated their education to this already. At seventeen years old.
The moral: everyone has to follow his "imperative ego" (imperativo categorico). Man is free to follow his moral duty, or to choose not to. The soul is immortal.
They say this teacher is hard. She does not give good grades easily. Some things are international. The desire to know things; about your classmates, about the new girls sitting in the corner, about the topic which you are studying. The desire to do well.
Moral is metaphysical. Experience is physical.
One girl seems to know everything. The other girls role their eyes as she boasts her knowledge. There's always one. My friend and I are diligently taking notes while passing notes to each other. High school. I like the way the Italian girls dress. Some are grunge-y, some are sporty and casual, some are 'preppy'. I had a uniform in high school. You can tell a lot about a person from the way they dress. The girl trying her best to be our translator for this philosophy lesson is wearing jeans and a cut off black T-shirt with a red skull on it and a smart black blazer. Everyone is wearing tight jeans.
Because the existence of God cannot be proven this in itself is evidence that he exists. This is metaphysical.
The bell rings, a sound understood in any language. Yet the girls do not move. In Italy you stay in one classroom all day with the same teacher and the same classmates and the same learning atmosphere.
We are learning about the evolution of education in Italy now. Learning about learning.
After WWII Italy went through a lot of changes: From a monarchy to a democracy. The emerging of the welfare state. Women were allowed to vote after 1946. And an economic boom in the 1960s.
They each take turns teaching us something about their home. They are both proud and embarrassed to practice their English with us. They've been studying English since primary school, but don't get the opportunity to use it often. I am impressed with their attitude towards another language. I envy their ability to combine foreign words to make foreign sentences in a foreign language so that they understand what they are telling us, and make us understand what they are trying to say. I say two sentences to them in Italian.
Write five sentences about George Orwell's Animal Farm from your 'point of you'.
A simple translation error. Mistaking point of view for point of you. We are in English class now. It is such a strange experience seeing my native language taught as a second language. I can't imagine writing something like that in Italian, or any other language. They make some mistakes, I can tell a few things got lost in translation, but I am proud to see the way they regard my language as a challenge worth tackling. I hope to one day write in Italian like I do in English. I hope to string together a random assortment of beautiful words to make a melodious, coherent sentence. And then another, and another, until I write something I can be proud of. I am proud of what I write, proud of my language and how I use it and proud of my attempt to learn another. I can only hope one day to be as proud of my Italian.
Thoughts from Places- Part II
Pondering Change in Cremona (07/10/2011)
It's amazing how the same place can be so different at different times in an individual's personal timeline. It's amazing how big the world seems when you're a child. My grandfather used to grow tomatoes on his property in the small town of Borgonovo, Italy. As a child I thought the tomato garden was never ending. Visiting him today however, the tomato plants now gone because he cannot maintain them with his bad back, I realize how small the space actually is. Funny, though, how the house he lives in seems bigger to me now. It must seem bigger to him too, now that he lives there all on his own.
A Frenzy in Florence (13/10/2011)
Woke up late. Turned off my alarm three times and woke up 20 minutes before I was supposed to meet an old teacher 30 mins away. I had already cancelled on him twice, so I decided to move at the speed of light and try to meet him anyway. I managed to get myself ready and to the bus station, almost getting hit by a car as I ran across the street to hop on my bus in time, only to find that the bus driver was on a break (that is to say, he was nowhere to be found). We left twenty minutes later. I waited patiently, still too tired and dazed to be upset by any of the morning's unfortunate occurrences thus far. The winding bus ride took me over the bridge and up the hills all the way to the Piazzale Michelangelo with a breathtaking view of the center of town. The duomo stood tall amongst the red brick roofs, the heart of this city, the organ around which everything is centered and without which nothing would quite be the same. And then I missed my stop. I couldn't help but be distracted by the view until I found out I should have gotten off the bus two stops before. So I waited for the next bus in the opposite direction, rode the two stops, and then proceeded to get lost. I wandered through the leaves falling from the trees in the changing of the season, got directions from a friendly old Italian man (and actually understood them!) and then eventually made my way up a rather large hill to finally arrive at my destination only an hour later than planned. My old teacher, a jolly old man with laugh lines as old as his white hair, bought me lunch in a small café in the piazza. We talked and ate and had a cappuccino and then he went back to teach and I caught the next bus back home.
Sometimes you have to make a bad day good. You may wake up late and rush and get lost but you may also find a beautiful view that makes everything worth while- and you you may even get a free lunch out of it! Sometimes getting lost, or venturing outside of your regular route, outside of your comfort zone, is the best thing you can do. How else would you ever experience something new?
Pretty Perugia (14/10/2011)
The small university town of Perugia is the only place that has made me reconsider my decision to study in Florence. I instantly fell in love with the hilly countryside and the authentic Italian atmosphere. I could picture myself living there, having a cappuccino in the small bakery then roaming the streets and hanging out at the steps of the duomo at night. I created an entire alternate life for myself in my head. Surprisingly the chocolate festival was not my favorite part. Surprisingly I didn't even eat a lot of chocolate. Surprisingly I was in a bad mood for most of the day, but nothing could make me love Perugia less. Sitting on a bench eating a sausage and pepper sandwich watching the sun set over the hills, clear skies over the Italian countryside, I could not help but wish Perugia was my new home.
It's amazing how the same place can be so different at different times in an individual's personal timeline. It's amazing how big the world seems when you're a child. My grandfather used to grow tomatoes on his property in the small town of Borgonovo, Italy. As a child I thought the tomato garden was never ending. Visiting him today however, the tomato plants now gone because he cannot maintain them with his bad back, I realize how small the space actually is. Funny, though, how the house he lives in seems bigger to me now. It must seem bigger to him too, now that he lives there all on his own.
A Frenzy in Florence (13/10/2011)
Woke up late. Turned off my alarm three times and woke up 20 minutes before I was supposed to meet an old teacher 30 mins away. I had already cancelled on him twice, so I decided to move at the speed of light and try to meet him anyway. I managed to get myself ready and to the bus station, almost getting hit by a car as I ran across the street to hop on my bus in time, only to find that the bus driver was on a break (that is to say, he was nowhere to be found). We left twenty minutes later. I waited patiently, still too tired and dazed to be upset by any of the morning's unfortunate occurrences thus far. The winding bus ride took me over the bridge and up the hills all the way to the Piazzale Michelangelo with a breathtaking view of the center of town. The duomo stood tall amongst the red brick roofs, the heart of this city, the organ around which everything is centered and without which nothing would quite be the same. And then I missed my stop. I couldn't help but be distracted by the view until I found out I should have gotten off the bus two stops before. So I waited for the next bus in the opposite direction, rode the two stops, and then proceeded to get lost. I wandered through the leaves falling from the trees in the changing of the season, got directions from a friendly old Italian man (and actually understood them!) and then eventually made my way up a rather large hill to finally arrive at my destination only an hour later than planned. My old teacher, a jolly old man with laugh lines as old as his white hair, bought me lunch in a small café in the piazza. We talked and ate and had a cappuccino and then he went back to teach and I caught the next bus back home.
Sometimes you have to make a bad day good. You may wake up late and rush and get lost but you may also find a beautiful view that makes everything worth while- and you you may even get a free lunch out of it! Sometimes getting lost, or venturing outside of your regular route, outside of your comfort zone, is the best thing you can do. How else would you ever experience something new?
Pretty Perugia (14/10/2011)
The small university town of Perugia is the only place that has made me reconsider my decision to study in Florence. I instantly fell in love with the hilly countryside and the authentic Italian atmosphere. I could picture myself living there, having a cappuccino in the small bakery then roaming the streets and hanging out at the steps of the duomo at night. I created an entire alternate life for myself in my head. Surprisingly the chocolate festival was not my favorite part. Surprisingly I didn't even eat a lot of chocolate. Surprisingly I was in a bad mood for most of the day, but nothing could make me love Perugia less. Sitting on a bench eating a sausage and pepper sandwich watching the sun set over the hills, clear skies over the Italian countryside, I could not help but wish Perugia was my new home.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Hi I'm Tara, have we met?
At the moment I'm reading 'Eat, Pray, Love'. Reading about another woman's personal journey really makes you think about yourself. In addition I am now studying 'Self' in my social psychology class. Suffice to say I've spent a lot of time recently pondering over what makes me… me. So this is my best attempt to define myself, to introduce myself honestly.
I am short. I am a small person. I have curly hair. I am a girl.
I am young. I am eighteen years old, but mature for my age (I like to think). I am an old soul I believe, or so my mother tells me. I feel older than I am, and look younger than I feel. I am wise beyond my years.
I am immature, too, at times. I am funny. I like to make people laugh, and to laugh myself. Sometimes at myself.
I am a good friend, and I have good friends. I put other's before myself (at times). I value my friend's happiness and love. I value my friends. I am selfish (at times). I believe that if I do not make myself happy I cannot make other's happy. I believe that if I do not love myself no one else can love me truly.
I am beautiful. I am no more beautiful than the 'fat girl with acne who doesn't shave her legs', or the woman begging on the streets who has no home. I am no less beautiful than the highest paid, skinniest model or even the girl with the nicer hair or the fancier clothes than me. Not every part of me is beautiful, but I am beautiful.
I am smart. There are some things that I know better than others, and many that other's know better than me. I can, and do, learn from those around me. And I can teach them, too.
I am compassionate and selfless and positive and loving and friendly and generous and helpful at times.
I am selfish and moody and arrogant and mean and loud and angry and negative at times.
I am the daughter of a failed (and then fixed) marriage. I am a sister. I am a good sister.
I am fortunate, and I know it and try to appreciate it every day. I am grateful.
I am silly and childish at times, serious and morbid at others.
I have struggled in my life. I was not always so positive or happy. I have overcome these obstacles.
I have more obstacles to over come, more barriers in my way. More tears to cry and fights to have. I have much to learn and much to try and discover.
I am young. I have infinity ahead of me.
I am completely myself. There is no one else in this world exactly like me and no one else I'd rather be.
My past does not define me as a person, but it has shaped who I am today. My future will not make me, but it will change me. My present is the best I have ever been.
Who are you?
I am short. I am a small person. I have curly hair. I am a girl.
I am young. I am eighteen years old, but mature for my age (I like to think). I am an old soul I believe, or so my mother tells me. I feel older than I am, and look younger than I feel. I am wise beyond my years.
I am immature, too, at times. I am funny. I like to make people laugh, and to laugh myself. Sometimes at myself.
I am a good friend, and I have good friends. I put other's before myself (at times). I value my friend's happiness and love. I value my friends. I am selfish (at times). I believe that if I do not make myself happy I cannot make other's happy. I believe that if I do not love myself no one else can love me truly.
I am beautiful. I am no more beautiful than the 'fat girl with acne who doesn't shave her legs', or the woman begging on the streets who has no home. I am no less beautiful than the highest paid, skinniest model or even the girl with the nicer hair or the fancier clothes than me. Not every part of me is beautiful, but I am beautiful.
I am smart. There are some things that I know better than others, and many that other's know better than me. I can, and do, learn from those around me. And I can teach them, too.
I am compassionate and selfless and positive and loving and friendly and generous and helpful at times.
I am selfish and moody and arrogant and mean and loud and angry and negative at times.
I am the daughter of a failed (and then fixed) marriage. I am a sister. I am a good sister.
I am fortunate, and I know it and try to appreciate it every day. I am grateful.
I am silly and childish at times, serious and morbid at others.
I have struggled in my life. I was not always so positive or happy. I have overcome these obstacles.
I have more obstacles to over come, more barriers in my way. More tears to cry and fights to have. I have much to learn and much to try and discover.
I am young. I have infinity ahead of me.
I am completely myself. There is no one else in this world exactly like me and no one else I'd rather be.
My past does not define me as a person, but it has shaped who I am today. My future will not make me, but it will change me. My present is the best I have ever been.
Who are you?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Osservazioni.
The top of the Santa Maria Novella is glowing pink in the setting sun, the lower half of the church is already in shadow. It's a warm early Italian evening.
A young man walks home from the supermarket, groceries in hand. In Italian he would be called 'uno ragazzo' no longer a boy (uno bambino) yet not quite a man (un uomo).
A toddler wanders away from his grandmother, his small pants full in the back where they stretch over his diaper. He has no destination, only the desire to use his little legs which he has obviously only recently discovered.
A girl talks on her phone, clearly having an argument, shouting at her telefonino with such passion that it is easy to forget that the person who has upset her is not standing right there in front of her. Is it her mother? Or her lover? Her sister, or friend? And how will the argument be resolved?
A couple enjoy each other's company. Lying as much on each other as on the grass, something that is perfectly normal here in a country so open and encouraging of love and passion.
A woman wanders past trying to read a map. She looks frustrated, but maybe if she put down her map she would find where she was going. Or, possibly, something even more worth while.
An elderly couple stroll hand in hand, their matching silver hair more a testament of commitment than their golden wedding bands.
A group of men sit on a bench talking about everything and nothing.
A monk stands amongst all this, his white robes brushing softly against the public streets, his brown leather satchel hanging loosely on his waist... and he's talking on his cell phone.
My friend is lying on her back reading a good book on a good day. She'll go home soon to cook some dinner, or maybe she won't.
A discarded bottle of coca-cola sits alone in a browning patch of grass.
And I sit, now alone on this section of grass, with an apple in one hand and my pen in the other, my Italian homework spread out in front of me but instead I choose just to sit and observe.
It is easy sometimes to get so caught up in ourselves that we forget to notice the infinite, intricate, innocent and complicated life that is all around us and apart of us and apart from us. Maybe they are noticing me too, or maybe they are too busy noticing themselves (as we all are sometimes).
An ambulance rushes past and disrupts the still air with it's siren. And then it is gone, and we are all back in our own little worlds and in each other's world.
A young man walks home from the supermarket, groceries in hand. In Italian he would be called 'uno ragazzo' no longer a boy (uno bambino) yet not quite a man (un uomo).
A toddler wanders away from his grandmother, his small pants full in the back where they stretch over his diaper. He has no destination, only the desire to use his little legs which he has obviously only recently discovered.
A girl talks on her phone, clearly having an argument, shouting at her telefonino with such passion that it is easy to forget that the person who has upset her is not standing right there in front of her. Is it her mother? Or her lover? Her sister, or friend? And how will the argument be resolved?
A couple enjoy each other's company. Lying as much on each other as on the grass, something that is perfectly normal here in a country so open and encouraging of love and passion.
A woman wanders past trying to read a map. She looks frustrated, but maybe if she put down her map she would find where she was going. Or, possibly, something even more worth while.
An elderly couple stroll hand in hand, their matching silver hair more a testament of commitment than their golden wedding bands.
A group of men sit on a bench talking about everything and nothing.
A monk stands amongst all this, his white robes brushing softly against the public streets, his brown leather satchel hanging loosely on his waist... and he's talking on his cell phone.
My friend is lying on her back reading a good book on a good day. She'll go home soon to cook some dinner, or maybe she won't.
A discarded bottle of coca-cola sits alone in a browning patch of grass.
And I sit, now alone on this section of grass, with an apple in one hand and my pen in the other, my Italian homework spread out in front of me but instead I choose just to sit and observe.
It is easy sometimes to get so caught up in ourselves that we forget to notice the infinite, intricate, innocent and complicated life that is all around us and apart of us and apart from us. Maybe they are noticing me too, or maybe they are too busy noticing themselves (as we all are sometimes).
An ambulance rushes past and disrupts the still air with it's siren. And then it is gone, and we are all back in our own little worlds and in each other's world.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Thoughts from Places
As many of you may have noticed I have been doing a lot of travelling recently. In the last three weeks I have been to seven different places within Italy (Via Reggio, Pompeii, Sorrento, Capri, Lake Como, Bellagio and Tirano) as well as two places outside of Italy (Munich, Germany and St. Moritz, Switzerland). In the weeks to come I am also traveling to Milan, Perugia, Eastern Europe (6 countries in 10 days), and London. Amidst all this traveling I jot down a few thoughts here and there, not quite enough for a full blog post but just what's on my mind in that point in time. As I no longer have a camera and I can't draw I document these wonderful experiences in words, and then I share those words with you. I planned to compile these thoughts from all these different places I've travelled into one blog post, but when I realized I have a LOT more traveling coming my way I decided I would start off now, and post a Thoughts from Places part 2 in another few weeks.
Sunset in Sorrento: (17/09/2011)
Sitting on a two person patio overlooking the hard modern metropolitan train tracks cutting through a bustling little town, exhausted from a three hour walking tour of Pompeii, one of the oldest Roma towns with such well kept remains. Full of history and positivity from today's adventure. Admiring the sun setting behind the majestic hills of Sorrento. Not quite a big city buzz, but not calm and still like a small town either.
Feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
Reflections from Munich Oktoberfest: (26/09/2011)
The best way to enjoy a good weekend in Munich with friends and drunk Germans alike is to take everything in your stride and make the most of the moments that don't go your way.
The best way to recover from three straight days of drinking and camping along with a looming flu is to sit in the Florence sun reading Eat, Pray, Love (or a book of your choosing).
Taking Lake Como for granted, and cheering up in St Moritz Switzerland: (01/10/2011)
Waking up at 5am after little to no sleep because your roommate's music was a little too loud and her phone rang every 10 minutes sets the mood for the rest of the day. I stepped off a bus in a quaint little lake side town in Italy, albeit overly exaggerates as 'the most beautiful place in Italy' but still worth stopping to take some pictures. Maybe it was because I was still grumpy and tired, maybe I was hungry or maybe- dare I say it- I'm sick of traveling every weekend. Needless to say I was not blown away. I found myself thinking 'Capri was better' (Capri is a small island off the coast of Sorrento that I visited two weekends ago) and, even, 'maybe I should have stayed home this weekend'. I hate to say it but I was taking this wonderful little town in this wonderful country on a wonderful day for granted. Not even seeing the way the sunlight sparkled off the lake, or a rainbow forming in a fountain could cheer me up. I hate to take any moment of my lucky adventure here for granted, but we all have those days. Sharing a pizza with friends and chasing it with a big scoop of strawberry ice cream (una coppetta di fragola gelato) quickly lifted my spirits. I am so fortunate to be experiencing everything I am experiencing, and seeing all that I am seeing. I am the luckiest person in the world to be able to take such a beautiful place for granted. And then we went to Switzerland. It is impossible not to be in high spirits when drinking swiss hot chocolate with a splash of amaretto and gorging yourself on every flavor of swiss chocolate under the sun. I recommend dark chocolate with chili pepper, your taste buds will thank you.
Sunset in Sorrento: (17/09/2011)
Sitting on a two person patio overlooking the hard modern metropolitan train tracks cutting through a bustling little town, exhausted from a three hour walking tour of Pompeii, one of the oldest Roma towns with such well kept remains. Full of history and positivity from today's adventure. Admiring the sun setting behind the majestic hills of Sorrento. Not quite a big city buzz, but not calm and still like a small town either.
Feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
Reflections from Munich Oktoberfest: (26/09/2011)
The best way to enjoy a good weekend in Munich with friends and drunk Germans alike is to take everything in your stride and make the most of the moments that don't go your way.
The best way to recover from three straight days of drinking and camping along with a looming flu is to sit in the Florence sun reading Eat, Pray, Love (or a book of your choosing).
Taking Lake Como for granted, and cheering up in St Moritz Switzerland: (01/10/2011)
Waking up at 5am after little to no sleep because your roommate's music was a little too loud and her phone rang every 10 minutes sets the mood for the rest of the day. I stepped off a bus in a quaint little lake side town in Italy, albeit overly exaggerates as 'the most beautiful place in Italy' but still worth stopping to take some pictures. Maybe it was because I was still grumpy and tired, maybe I was hungry or maybe- dare I say it- I'm sick of traveling every weekend. Needless to say I was not blown away. I found myself thinking 'Capri was better' (Capri is a small island off the coast of Sorrento that I visited two weekends ago) and, even, 'maybe I should have stayed home this weekend'. I hate to say it but I was taking this wonderful little town in this wonderful country on a wonderful day for granted. Not even seeing the way the sunlight sparkled off the lake, or a rainbow forming in a fountain could cheer me up. I hate to take any moment of my lucky adventure here for granted, but we all have those days. Sharing a pizza with friends and chasing it with a big scoop of strawberry ice cream (una coppetta di fragola gelato) quickly lifted my spirits. I am so fortunate to be experiencing everything I am experiencing, and seeing all that I am seeing. I am the luckiest person in the world to be able to take such a beautiful place for granted. And then we went to Switzerland. It is impossible not to be in high spirits when drinking swiss hot chocolate with a splash of amaretto and gorging yourself on every flavor of swiss chocolate under the sun. I recommend dark chocolate with chili pepper, your taste buds will thank you.
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