59 Days

I haven't turned the ringer on in weeks. It's been nice. I wonder why the world (well, at least this side of the Atlantic) starts the days so early. Wake up at 6am, scarfing down a bagel, gulping down hot coffee, crashing at 9pm — talk about tragedy. We all need siestas, don't you think? We too often forget the night! Who are we to devote ourselves to the day so completely that we end up abandoning and neglecting la noche as if she were the unwanted, second-rate sister? I have found that some things are more beautiful at night – like lights...

Makes sense though, doesn't it? That sometimes, it takes the darkness to see the brightest things. Like stars. Great metaphor, isn't it?

A small puddle of milk sits at the bottom of my elephant glass. A few cookie crumbs and chocolate smudges on a tiny plate we use to hold teacups (why do teacups need their own plates, anyway?). Strange; one of the living room cushions that my grandmother left teetering on the armrest somehow found its way halfway between the table and the sofa, and just sits, as well — suspended above the carpet, like someone wanted to build something there, but got bored.

I saw a young man today who looked no older than 17, but he had a beard. A full-grown beard, too, but on one of those faces that will always be boyish and bright. He spoke erratically, sometimes pulling his words out with his hands, then waving them in the air, sort of shoving them at us gently, as if his words refused to speak for themselves – reminded me of when my mom would introduce me to her friends when I was younger, and she would nudge me forward (sort of forcefully, actually), and make me tell them my name. "Joanne," I would say shyly. Then hold up five or six fingers, depending on how old I was/what I felt like saying. I don't think I was even shy when I was younger. I just liked the idea of it.

I like the idea of lots of things, which isn't always bad, contrary to what "they" say. Whoever "they" is. I like the idea of sitting at an outdoor café, people-watching while drinking cold cerveza and eating some obscure Catalonian seafood dish and writing. I like the idea of walking alone at night on old streets, smelling cigarette smoke while hugging myself with a leather jacket.

I also like the idea of bullfighting. I know there are a handful of animal rights issues with bullfighting, which I won't get into (mainly because I honestly don't know enough) — but that is probably why I like the idea of it, and not really the bullfighting itself. Well, I don't know. I've only seen bullfights in movies. But like I said, I like the idea of it — man mating with death, man facing himself and the bull as equals — if only for the fight — then engaging in this dance, this enchanting tease of man's mortality. In a movie I watched recently, the main character said, "One decides to become a bullfighter on an empty stomach." I liked that. Another man in the movie said, "To be a bullfighter, one must like the idea of death" (or something like that). I don't like the idea of death, necessarily — but I like the idea of accepting it.

I do not know why we are so possessive of this life. It is a blessing to be alive, and we should treat it as such — a blessing. We are not enough to take credit for it. We just aren't.

Forgive me, if I'm completely wrong about any of this — seriously, forgive me: this is why I am drawn to Spain. It is a people of tradition, and celebration, sure... but also a people of tragedy. How morbid!, you're thinking. Ha, for a second I imagined what someone else might think, reading that — masses of wandering Spaniards, smoking cigarettes and grimly staring into the night sky, cursing life and all its atrocities! That's not the picture I'm painting here.

I mean to say, a people of tragedy that understands our finitude, and because of this, truly lives. I feel like we try too hard to make a living in America. We are constantly fighting against/for ourselves, trying to live longer, work harder, be better, move faster — and for what? As if we stand a chance against death. If you figure that one out, let me know. Even so, I can't wait to see what is beyond this life.

But for now, in our strange condition, why not really live — why not find work that fulfills us, that sets our hearts on fire or brings our soul to rest, and real peace? Why not fill our days (yes, fill our days, not spend our time) talking over wine and tapas, resting when we feel tired, and really living when we don't?

That said, I haven't even been to Spain yet. So maybe none of this is true. I guess we'll see. For now, I like the idea of it all... don't you?

like I said...

I like the way this city's heart beats. I like the way everyone breathes here, like each breath might be our last, but even if it is, we're going to spend it laughing licking lavender ice cream, sidewalk-sitting amid the city hubbub. I like sharing our Mountain, our green lake, our towering gray edifices that come to life at night, our narrow streets and splashing feet. I like it, a lot.

come to me tenderly in the June night

Frank Sinatra had four wives. Three kids.

I wonder if the last wife was his favorite. I mean, they were married the longest. Or if the first one was. I mean, that's when he released his best songs, after all. Or I wonder if his songs were so enchanting then because he hadn't loved yet. Sometimes, I think the best art comes from being unfulfilled (unfortunately)...

I wonder.

I also wonder if good ole Frankie was involved in the Mafia, like they said he was.

I wonder.


I stand at your gate.
And the song that I sing is of moonlight.
I stand and I wait
For the touch of your hand in the June night.
The roses are sighing a moonlight serenade.

The stars are aglow.
And tonight how their light sets me dreaming.
My love, do you know
That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?
I bring you, and I sing you a moonlight serenade.

Let us stray 'til break of day
In love's valley of dreams.
Just you and I, a summer sky,
A heavenly breeze, kissin' the trees.

So don't let me wait.
Come to me tenderly in the June night.
I stand at your gate
And I sing you a song in the moonlight.
A love song, my darling, a moonlight serenade

tropical rain

Finally, some silence,
and a book,
and tea,
and home creaks,
and a blanket,
and tired feet,
and a heavy heart
(that smiles)
and I am thinking of you,
and feeling at peace,
for now.

Nos vemos pronto, Barcelona...

I can't wait! I've spent most of my free time reading student blogs and browsing LonelyPlanet for more info about Barcelona... I feel like I'm already in love. Or lust, at least.

I can't wait! At first, I was worried about not having enough time to see everything I want to see — three months isn't a very long time when you're with the one you love, after all — but I am already crazy about a city I've never met, so I am sure that my trip abroad won't be the last time I see España...

Countdowns:

3 days until I see my best friend.
17 days until July 4th.
59 days until my Bikram punch card expires.
70 days until Spain.
95 days until my birthday.
192 days until Christmas.
206 days until I am reunited with my other best friends.

Dang. Blessed.

fruit anxiety

I think I am allergic to bananas. I just tried to eat one and my entire mouth erupted into pain, like tiny little men were shoveling chunks of flesh out of the sides of my cheeks and my taste buds were crawling into their own little bomb shelters, sucking themselves into my tongue and shriveling into nothing. I don't think I'll be eating any bananas for awhile.

tiger's milk

It's funny how desperately we want to be known, and how hard we try to remain mysterious.

(Addiction to image projection!)

"When there's a burning in your heart, don't be alarmed."

okay, now I get it

Wow. Just finished what I know was the hardest final exam of the quarter (and my time in college so far), and I feel SO accomplished. This class has been the bane of my existence/my sole cause for celebration this quarter... but now looking back, it has taught me so much about who I am as a learner, and who I might be as a teacher.

When times got tough this quarter, I started lapsing into this cycle of doubt about why I'm here at all (who is my education benefiting, anyway? why do we need to learn any of this? who said all this knowledge is a good thing?). I am seeing now, though, that I could have been learning about anything in this class — seriously, underwater basket weaving, rodent psychology, anything, and because of the professor — who set an incredibly high standard for us — his careful attention to class structure, and his evident passion for the subject material, I took away much more from this class than a compartmentalized understanding of ancient comedy...

I have faced myself. I have leapt fearlessly (okay, not that fearlessly) off the academic pedestal on which I once held myself, and dived headfirst into the grueling stink of humility and hard work. Okay, so the late nights, the frustration, the banging of head-against-laptop/books were not nearly as poetic of events as I would like to think they were. But nonetheless, I walk away from this class incredibly, incredibly humbled.

This is why education is truly important. It is not about learning facts, understanding theories, even applying knowledge; it is about developing our selves, about embracing our finitude and simultaneously coming to terms with the true magnitude of our potential. This is why, at one point, we should all consider ourselves students. We can take that and apply it to as many situations as we want. More specifically, I guess, I'm seeing the value in learning, going to college, and playing into this whole "school system". The system itself may suck — but the concept of learning stays the same. When we learn, we are. We access that crazy dialectical relationship between who we have become and who we could be. We face our limits and our capabilities, all at once. This going-to-school thing just gives us a venue through which we can see how we've learned. Hmm.. this all sounds very individualist, and that's not really what I mean. I think humility is one of the greatest lessons we can learn from our education. But true humility doesn't come without challenge. It doesn't really matter what we learn here. It matters how we learn it. We go to school and learn how to thrive. How to grow. How to stare a challenge in the face and make out with it!

It's a real blessing to be able to walk away from this class with a less-than-decent letter grade, and know that I learned more in the last 10 weeks than I have in a few quarters. I walk away knowing I poured everything I could possibly manage in this class, with the time I had this quarter, and in this specific circumstance. It's been quite the journey this quarter. I think it's coming back. That whole passion for teaching thing... Hmmm. This is incomplete. But I no longer want to write. More later...

miniature memories

Flannel and the flag of Portugal and Rover mold and tapping furiously away at keys the occasional throat-clearing and shhh the rest are sleeping and a giggle every now and then "my, how much tea you have!" and lots of laughing always laughing green couches sneakers slippers socks tea for the tired girl who laughs like the sky and the strange creatures we all are when we don't sleep - it's the newest intoxication - perhaps i never knew myself well-rested.