To me, Thanksgiving is a truly brilliant American holiday. I do not entirely know the history behind it, but I think that the tradition has evolved; grown as the country has grown and matured, and today it is a celebration of family, food, and thankfulness. There are no presents, like Christmas, which at times can seem more materialistic than it should. It is not commercial, like Valentine's day, which is a holiday created by Hallmark and Hershey's to increase their revenue ten fold in one day. Thanksgiving is what it sounds like, a giving of thanks, an appreciation for things you often overlook in your day to day life, and a time to share with your family.
I know Thanksgiving isn't for another five days, and I know I'm not American and have only celebrated thanksgiving about three times in my entire life, but I have decided to break my two week blog absence with this post for two reasons: 1) My roommates (two of whom are American) are all going away next weekend and so we will not be together on actual Thanksgiving so we decided to celebrate together today so you can say I'm in the Thanksgiving mood, and 2) I think we should be thankful every minute of every day, whether we openly acknowledge it or not we should be thankful for what we have. So I'm not going to wait another five days to post what I am thankful for, because I am thankful for it today as much as I was yesterday and as much as I will be five days from now.
I am thankful for my family. We do not get to all be in the same place often, and recently both of my parents visited my sister in New York and as jealous as it made me that I couldn't be with them all it also made me realize how much I miss them all and how grateful I am to have such a great family that has been through so much and I can have a special relationship with each member, and especially my sister who is my best friend.
I am thankful for my friends. New friends that I have made in the last couple months and old friends that I have had for years. I am thankful for the new ones for sharing this amazing time in my life with me, and especially for my roommates for putting up with me each and every day. I am thankful for my old friends for being there for me whenever I need them, no matter how far apart we may be, and for sticking by me for so long and through so much.
I am thankful for Italy. I am so blessed to have the opportunity that I have, and the attitude that I do towards my year here. I don't want to waste a minute taking anything for granted, because I am luckier than most and happier than many. I will remember this time for the rest of my life, and I am so happy to say that all the memories, at least thus far, are good ones. I have learnt so much already, seen so many new things, and already love the people and the places.
I am thankful for my health. It may sound cliché but it is not something that should be taken for granted. I know seventeen year olds who have battled cancer, sixteen year olds who have passed away, and my dear young cousin who is struggling with brain cancer at the moment. I believe in her, I love her, I hope for her strength every day. I am thankful that I wake up healthy and go to sleep healthy.
I am thankful for so much, I can't possibly list it all here.
I am thankful for you, whoever you are, reading this. Thankful for my thoughts and my skill. I am thankful for music without which life would be very boring.
I am thankful.
What are you thankful for?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Ah, London
A newspaper rustles. Hip-hop music leaks from my neighbour's headphones. The tube rushes on so fast it clogs my ears.
Ah, London.
An Italian couple sit next to me (and I actually understand them!) Two Spanish girls sit opposite me, and there is an Indian family a couple seats down. A girl even stands in front of me with her laptop in her hands, still working after a long day.
Ah, London.
It is impossible to be a foreigner here. Impossible not to blend in to the crowd, not to fit right in amongst the mass of individuality. An oxymoron, I know.
Ah, London.
I feel at home in London, I always have. Though I never actually lived there I have always felt a sense of welcoming acceptance and familiarity from the moment I step off the plane. It feels like home to me.
Ah, London.
After traveling to so many new places, experiencing so many new things and meeting so many new people it's nice to go somewhere I know. The familiarity of London, the memories and feelings that it evokes, the melody of the British accent and the english language and the promise of familiar faces is just as exciting to me as discovering a completely new country. I long to see people I know and miss, to walk through a city I recognize, to make new memories where I already have some. For as much as I love to experience new things nothing and no one can replaces the ones I already know and love.
So I spent twenty minutes on my first day wandering around the same block and a half looking for a bus stop. So I had to stop and ask for directions at least six times. So I was completely on my own. I did it all with a smile on my face. There's something about being lost in a place that still looks familiar, something about the comfort of knowing that I can speak the language so I can always get help if I really need it, and something about being completely independent about it all that is exhilarating. I woke up to the company of my kind host, a friend I have had for only three months (though it feels like I must have known her for longer). I met up with my best friends from the past (who are still some of my best friends today) who I haven't seen in over three years. And I saw my godmother who I have known since I was about three years old.
I love London.
Ah, London.
An Italian couple sit next to me (and I actually understand them!) Two Spanish girls sit opposite me, and there is an Indian family a couple seats down. A girl even stands in front of me with her laptop in her hands, still working after a long day.
Ah, London.
It is impossible to be a foreigner here. Impossible not to blend in to the crowd, not to fit right in amongst the mass of individuality. An oxymoron, I know.
Ah, London.
I feel at home in London, I always have. Though I never actually lived there I have always felt a sense of welcoming acceptance and familiarity from the moment I step off the plane. It feels like home to me.
Ah, London.
After traveling to so many new places, experiencing so many new things and meeting so many new people it's nice to go somewhere I know. The familiarity of London, the memories and feelings that it evokes, the melody of the British accent and the english language and the promise of familiar faces is just as exciting to me as discovering a completely new country. I long to see people I know and miss, to walk through a city I recognize, to make new memories where I already have some. For as much as I love to experience new things nothing and no one can replaces the ones I already know and love.
So I spent twenty minutes on my first day wandering around the same block and a half looking for a bus stop. So I had to stop and ask for directions at least six times. So I was completely on my own. I did it all with a smile on my face. There's something about being lost in a place that still looks familiar, something about the comfort of knowing that I can speak the language so I can always get help if I really need it, and something about being completely independent about it all that is exhilarating. I woke up to the company of my kind host, a friend I have had for only three months (though it feels like I must have known her for longer). I met up with my best friends from the past (who are still some of my best friends today) who I haven't seen in over three years. And I saw my godmother who I have known since I was about three years old.
I love London.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Hauntings from the Holocaust
Oscar Schindler's "Emalia" enamelware factory 26/10/11
From contemporary art to a blast from the past. Touring Oscar Schindler's 'Emalia' earthenware factor was like being in a time portal. I expected the museum to simply be a tour of the factory perfectly preserved, or even replicated and tourist friendly. What I experienced, however, was life in Krakow from 1939 to 1945. I walked through the town square, through a typical jewish house, through the ghetto and even through a small segment of Slaszow concentration camp. Yes, this entire experience was a very modern replica of a very barren part of human history, but I have a good imagination- and the sound effects helped. The most important thing to me, however, was that I was in the very factory where so many Polish jews worked, and so many were miraculously saved. I stood where they stood, I saw what they saw, I heard their stories.
Oscar Schindler was not a saint, he did not set out to be a hero, he was a greedy and corrupt businessman. But he was a saviour. I read a quote from one of the 1200 people that he saved that said: "If it weren't for him there would not be me, and there would not be my family either, nor our descendants."
Have you ever felt like you weren't good enough? Ever felt like you were just a face in a crowd, one in a million… useless? Think again.
Today I was overcome not by the immense sadness and brutality- that goes without saying- but by the good amongst the evil, the heroism in Oscar Schindler, a corrupt businessman. It just goes to show that there is good in everyone- immense good, inspiring amounts of good. It is just each person's personal choice if, and how, they express it.
Entrance to Auschwitz concentration camp
Auschwitz Concentration Camp 27/10/11
Auschwitz is beautiful. It's a strange fact, but it is a fact nonetheless. In any other place, under any other circumstance, the red bricks and changing colours of the leaves of the surrounding forestry scattering the earth would be considered picturesque. Peaceful even. Here, however, the beauty makes it that much more eerie, that much more sad.
I don't need to go into the details of how heart-wrenching it was to see the women's hair and the children's clothes preserved and put on display. I won't bother describing the atmosphere of inhumanity and death inside the barracks and the gas chambers alike. I couldn't possibly explain the experience no matter how hard I try. Even I know that there are some things words just cannot describe.
I will say that for three hours I was no longer important. I was no longer an eighteen year old, tanned skin, un-baptised girl from the Caribbean. I was no longer me. Though I can say with almost 100% certainty that if I was a victim of the Holocaust I would have been sent to the gas chambers instantaneously, along with the children under 14 and the adults over 40 as well as those deemed unhealthy or unfit for work. I never would have even seen the inside of the camps. But that is not important. I was not important. I was merely an observer, a fly on the wall, a silent spirit paying tribute to those before me, paying my respects to the spirits of the past.
I did not have flowers to lay at the "wall of death" or a candle to light at the entrance of Auschwitz II- Birkenau. I have never been so overwhelmed by the desire to pray, for those that died and those that survived, for those that lost loved ones and for all those who suffered as well as those suffering today.
The Holocaust may be over, but there is still brutal inhumanity today. So do not forget the horrors of the past, but neither should you overlook the horrors of the present. That is not to say, however, that the love and happiness of the present should be overlooked either. Just remember the next time you fight with a sibling or have a bad day at least you have that sibling to fight with and at least you are alive and healthy. At least you are free.
At the "death wall" my tour guide told me that the victims of the execution used to look their executioners in the eye and shout, loud enough for the other prisoners to hear: "Do not forget me! Remember my name!" So do just that. Remember.
Remember the victims of the Holocaust, remember the victims of the present day horrors, and remember those you love and see everyday. Do not forget to tell them you love them and appreciate them. Do not take them for granted.
And remember yourself. You are not just a number tattooed on your arm. You are not a victim. You are fortunate in more ways than you know. I know I am.
The "Death Wall"
From contemporary art to a blast from the past. Touring Oscar Schindler's 'Emalia' earthenware factor was like being in a time portal. I expected the museum to simply be a tour of the factory perfectly preserved, or even replicated and tourist friendly. What I experienced, however, was life in Krakow from 1939 to 1945. I walked through the town square, through a typical jewish house, through the ghetto and even through a small segment of Slaszow concentration camp. Yes, this entire experience was a very modern replica of a very barren part of human history, but I have a good imagination- and the sound effects helped. The most important thing to me, however, was that I was in the very factory where so many Polish jews worked, and so many were miraculously saved. I stood where they stood, I saw what they saw, I heard their stories.
Oscar Schindler was not a saint, he did not set out to be a hero, he was a greedy and corrupt businessman. But he was a saviour. I read a quote from one of the 1200 people that he saved that said: "If it weren't for him there would not be me, and there would not be my family either, nor our descendants."
Have you ever felt like you weren't good enough? Ever felt like you were just a face in a crowd, one in a million… useless? Think again.
Today I was overcome not by the immense sadness and brutality- that goes without saying- but by the good amongst the evil, the heroism in Oscar Schindler, a corrupt businessman. It just goes to show that there is good in everyone- immense good, inspiring amounts of good. It is just each person's personal choice if, and how, they express it.
Entrance to Auschwitz concentration camp
Auschwitz Concentration Camp 27/10/11
Auschwitz is beautiful. It's a strange fact, but it is a fact nonetheless. In any other place, under any other circumstance, the red bricks and changing colours of the leaves of the surrounding forestry scattering the earth would be considered picturesque. Peaceful even. Here, however, the beauty makes it that much more eerie, that much more sad.
I don't need to go into the details of how heart-wrenching it was to see the women's hair and the children's clothes preserved and put on display. I won't bother describing the atmosphere of inhumanity and death inside the barracks and the gas chambers alike. I couldn't possibly explain the experience no matter how hard I try. Even I know that there are some things words just cannot describe.
I will say that for three hours I was no longer important. I was no longer an eighteen year old, tanned skin, un-baptised girl from the Caribbean. I was no longer me. Though I can say with almost 100% certainty that if I was a victim of the Holocaust I would have been sent to the gas chambers instantaneously, along with the children under 14 and the adults over 40 as well as those deemed unhealthy or unfit for work. I never would have even seen the inside of the camps. But that is not important. I was not important. I was merely an observer, a fly on the wall, a silent spirit paying tribute to those before me, paying my respects to the spirits of the past.
I did not have flowers to lay at the "wall of death" or a candle to light at the entrance of Auschwitz II- Birkenau. I have never been so overwhelmed by the desire to pray, for those that died and those that survived, for those that lost loved ones and for all those who suffered as well as those suffering today.
The Holocaust may be over, but there is still brutal inhumanity today. So do not forget the horrors of the past, but neither should you overlook the horrors of the present. That is not to say, however, that the love and happiness of the present should be overlooked either. Just remember the next time you fight with a sibling or have a bad day at least you have that sibling to fight with and at least you are alive and healthy. At least you are free.
At the "death wall" my tour guide told me that the victims of the execution used to look their executioners in the eye and shout, loud enough for the other prisoners to hear: "Do not forget me! Remember my name!" So do just that. Remember.
Remember the victims of the Holocaust, remember the victims of the present day horrors, and remember those you love and see everyday. Do not forget to tell them you love them and appreciate them. Do not take them for granted.
And remember yourself. You are not just a number tattooed on your arm. You are not a victim. You are fortunate in more ways than you know. I know I am.
The "Death Wall"
Thoughts from Places- Part III
Wisdom from Wien (Vienna) 21/10/11
I've embarked on a ten day tour of Eastern Europe. From Florence, to Vienna, to Bratislava, to Budapest, to Krakow to Prague and then back home. It's going to be exciting, exhausting, and above all educational. We're on day two, driving out of Vienna now. I like the balance between imperial and modern. The architecture, the lifestyle, the people. Vienna holds a strong contrast between 'regal', like the extravagant and awe-inspiring Belvedere, and 'hip' like the equally beautiful grafiti art display along the river. I wish we had more than one day though, but I've already learnt on a fast-paced, action packed trip like this it's not so much what you do as who you do it with. Keep good company and an open mind and every new place can be a whole new world of discovery.
Strolling through Solvakia 21/10/11
Bratislava is exactly the opposite of what I expected. Watching 'Eurotrip' probably wasn't the best way to prime myself, but I still expected a harsh, gray, cold town. I thought I would find beauty in the cracks of the cobble stoned streets and the heat from a local pub. What I found, however, was a cute, quaint, friendly little town with pastel pink churches and mossy green monuments. I was pleasantly surprised. I found myself browsing the small market in the town square, looking through the jewelry displayed in little red shacks, missing my sister and my friends. I was overwhelmed by the desire for them to be there with me, sharing the experience. Nothing in particular triggered it, there was nothing familiar, no 'deja vu'. I just wanted to share the moment with the people I love.
Bad weather in Budapest 23/10/11
Rain rain go away, come again some other day. I wish I had more time in Budapest. I wish I could have explored more, seen more, learned more. One day is not enough time in Budapest! I did make the best of that one day, however. I learnt two very important lessons in my short time there. 1) I learnt to go with the flow. I can't always try to be in control of everything around me. Some people might not have the best sense of direction, or be aware of the historical aspects of their surroundings, but that's ok. I can read the map and direct the group, and as long as I know the importance of what's around me it doesn't bother me what the other's do or do not know. And 2) I learnt that not everyone who travels cares about the cultural experience. It's one thing to not brush up on your history, but many people unfortunately seem to travel just for the fun of getting drunk in five different countries in ten days. When you say with dead certainty that Budapest is a country maybe it's time to consider that you should spend less time traveling and more time in school. Is ignorance bliss? Or does ignorance cripple you? I sat on the bus and listened to these young women, older than myself, two years into their college degrees, saying that Krakow is the capital of Slovakia and giving the colour and cut of their hair more importance than the culture, the history, the geography of where they were in the world. I am glad I took this year before college to learn and experience culture first hand, rather than to get drunk as much as possible. I am glad that I have always made it a point to surround myself with intelligent, interesting people to call my friends. And I am glad to be me.
Contemporary art in Cracovia (Krakow) 24/10/11
I love history. I have always enjoyed studying the events that created the modern world. Everything from the Cave Man, to the Renaissance, to the Scientific Revolution, to WWII fascinates me. As much as I try to read the news, however, I never know as much about current events as I do about ancient ones. Recently I've decided to change that, and today my eyes were opened. In Krakow, Poland, in the midst of the university that Copernicus attended and the jewish quarters of WWII my roommate and I stumbled upon a contemporary art exhibit. The photo-journalism recollection of 2010 can still be considered 'history' but it is fresh, it is recent. The wounds are still healing. I re-witnesed everything from the devastating earthquake in Haiti, to the unlucky men trapped in the mine in Chile, to the epic journey Somali's take for their freedom, to moments of the world cup and more. It was humbling. I was surprised at how many of the photographs affected me personally in some way or another and recalled a feeling or a thought from my personal history. I still love history, I still value learning from the past, but I also appreciate that I live in the present, and that the present is just as epic, just as eventful if not more so, and should be much more important to me as an individual.
I've embarked on a ten day tour of Eastern Europe. From Florence, to Vienna, to Bratislava, to Budapest, to Krakow to Prague and then back home. It's going to be exciting, exhausting, and above all educational. We're on day two, driving out of Vienna now. I like the balance between imperial and modern. The architecture, the lifestyle, the people. Vienna holds a strong contrast between 'regal', like the extravagant and awe-inspiring Belvedere, and 'hip' like the equally beautiful grafiti art display along the river. I wish we had more than one day though, but I've already learnt on a fast-paced, action packed trip like this it's not so much what you do as who you do it with. Keep good company and an open mind and every new place can be a whole new world of discovery.
Strolling through Solvakia 21/10/11
Bratislava is exactly the opposite of what I expected. Watching 'Eurotrip' probably wasn't the best way to prime myself, but I still expected a harsh, gray, cold town. I thought I would find beauty in the cracks of the cobble stoned streets and the heat from a local pub. What I found, however, was a cute, quaint, friendly little town with pastel pink churches and mossy green monuments. I was pleasantly surprised. I found myself browsing the small market in the town square, looking through the jewelry displayed in little red shacks, missing my sister and my friends. I was overwhelmed by the desire for them to be there with me, sharing the experience. Nothing in particular triggered it, there was nothing familiar, no 'deja vu'. I just wanted to share the moment with the people I love.
Bad weather in Budapest 23/10/11
Rain rain go away, come again some other day. I wish I had more time in Budapest. I wish I could have explored more, seen more, learned more. One day is not enough time in Budapest! I did make the best of that one day, however. I learnt two very important lessons in my short time there. 1) I learnt to go with the flow. I can't always try to be in control of everything around me. Some people might not have the best sense of direction, or be aware of the historical aspects of their surroundings, but that's ok. I can read the map and direct the group, and as long as I know the importance of what's around me it doesn't bother me what the other's do or do not know. And 2) I learnt that not everyone who travels cares about the cultural experience. It's one thing to not brush up on your history, but many people unfortunately seem to travel just for the fun of getting drunk in five different countries in ten days. When you say with dead certainty that Budapest is a country maybe it's time to consider that you should spend less time traveling and more time in school. Is ignorance bliss? Or does ignorance cripple you? I sat on the bus and listened to these young women, older than myself, two years into their college degrees, saying that Krakow is the capital of Slovakia and giving the colour and cut of their hair more importance than the culture, the history, the geography of where they were in the world. I am glad I took this year before college to learn and experience culture first hand, rather than to get drunk as much as possible. I am glad that I have always made it a point to surround myself with intelligent, interesting people to call my friends. And I am glad to be me.
Contemporary art in Cracovia (Krakow) 24/10/11
I love history. I have always enjoyed studying the events that created the modern world. Everything from the Cave Man, to the Renaissance, to the Scientific Revolution, to WWII fascinates me. As much as I try to read the news, however, I never know as much about current events as I do about ancient ones. Recently I've decided to change that, and today my eyes were opened. In Krakow, Poland, in the midst of the university that Copernicus attended and the jewish quarters of WWII my roommate and I stumbled upon a contemporary art exhibit. The photo-journalism recollection of 2010 can still be considered 'history' but it is fresh, it is recent. The wounds are still healing. I re-witnesed everything from the devastating earthquake in Haiti, to the unlucky men trapped in the mine in Chile, to the epic journey Somali's take for their freedom, to moments of the world cup and more. It was humbling. I was surprised at how many of the photographs affected me personally in some way or another and recalled a feeling or a thought from my personal history. I still love history, I still value learning from the past, but I also appreciate that I live in the present, and that the present is just as epic, just as eventful if not more so, and should be much more important to me as an individual.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Regret.
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.
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.
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.
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