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A Simple Love Poem   
10:15pm 20/01/2008
 
mood: calm
(Been a while since I posted, but that's because I haven't had anything worth posting. I wrote this a few days ago. It's the first decent poetry I've done in ages. It's based in J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-Earth, but I think the feeling of it is universal.)

My lady lives here in the green hills of Bree
By the brambly fields and the rumbling sea.
Just the thought of her smile will quicken my pace,
For it’s many long weeks since I last saw her face.
I am down from the mountains where wild wind blows,
Through the grassy high moors where the lebethron grows.
Now my spirit is weary, my body is sore,
But soon I'll be with my beloved once more.
The road is now showered with leaves from the trees,
As dancing and bending they shake in the breeze.
The leaves shiver off in the young autumn cold
To cover the cobblestones deeply in gold.
Though nature is slowly preparing for sleep,
There’s still plenty time ‘til the snow grows too deep.
For now no foul weather that falls from above
Can keep me from reaching the arms of my love.
Once we are together I’ll ask my fair maid
To find me by night in a silvery glade
Where the white flowers sway in the light of the moon
To the honey-sweet sound of the fiddler’s tune.
And here we will meet in the ink of the night,
‘Neath the adamant stars and the mithril moonlight.
When the night turns to dawn and before we depart,
I’ll have courage to tell her what lies in my heart.
As she rests in the cool grass beside the pathway,
I’ll wonder why these words are so hard to say.
I should wake her as twilight transforms into dawn
And hold her before this sweet moment is gone.
But alas I can’t tell her this secret I keep,
So be silent, good hunter, disturb not her sleep.		  
     

(3 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Hi There Moon   
12:28am 30/07/2007
 
mood: peaceful
Do you suppose
The pale moon chose
To glow the way it gently glows?
Or do you think
The pink and yellow
Mild, mellow hues
Are grand because
They stand against
The evening's inky blues?		  
     

(2 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Jumping   
08:55pm 27/07/2007
 
mood: relieved
My stepmom found me weeping tonight, and I was embarrassed to tell her why. After all, how do you say that something that makes you feel wonderful also scares you so much?

I've been so happy the past few days. Everything has gone right. For once things are really making sense to me and it seems like everything is falling into place.

But then again, that giddy feeling is starting to wear off and I am left facing the reality, and I'm remembering that I've always been scared of forever. I have fears about committing that I don't want to face, because I'm even more afraid that I can't conquer them. The possibility than I can is safer than the knolwedge that I can't.

But even so I have to remind myself that it isn't supposed to be perfect, and that if I weren't scared that would mean I was probably not serious. Still though, we have been raised to believe that the perfect love is the one with no problems, no doubt, no hesitance. No one ever tells you about the fear.

These feelings should be wonderful, and they are! But they're also accompanied by fear, and that's what the fairytales omit. Love is never sure. It's never the one undeniable truth. But that doesn't keep us from hoping that it can be. So then, when it isn't, we wonder if it's right at all.

Metta knew what to do. There were no sympathetic smiles and attempts at condolence, just a tissue and a suggestion that we go for a moonlight swim. Sitting at my desk and wallowing in flimsy tears, I was not convinced, but I know my stepmom knows more about the world than me, so I let her guide me through the dark forest to the ocean.

The moment my feet touched the cold, wild water, I recoiled and lingered by the rocks as Metta boldly strode out into the ocean. The roiling waves were glowing a pale butter yellow as the nearly full moon hung over us in its cradle of clouds. But even so, I hesitated.

"Come on in!" Metta called to me, "you'll be glad you did!"

"I don't know if it's the right decision!" I replied, mocking my own indecision as I shied away from the waves that chilled my skin.

"Just jump." said Metta, and I considered all the reasons why I didn't want to, why it was better to stay dry on shore.

"I feel alive!" said Metta with a whoop, and I saw how happy she was, splashing and twirling in the slick, inky waves. I took a deep breath and plunged in.

The water was an utter shock and I yelped in surprise, but almost immediately the exhilaration of swimming in deep moon-charged waters overrode my protesting nerves and I dabbled and dashed in the ripples. It was indescribable how amazing it felt, and I turned to Metta with a smile that was lost in the waning light.

"I made the right decision." I told her.

One dip in the ocean under the surveillance of the moon was all it took to whisk away the burdening insecurity I'd felt only minutes earlier. With my skin tingling and my mind cleared, I rested against a damp rock and let my eyes follow the trail of moonlight to the horizon.

There are always so many things to convince you to be cautious, that what you're doing might not be the right choice. It's so hard to leave the shore when you don't know how cold the water will be. Delaying out of fear and caution lets you build up all sorts of terrifying possibilities in your mind. But then, when you finally plunge, you realize that it was worth it, and that something that at first seemed so frightening turns out to be so right. You realize that things will be okay if you let them, and that the best decision you ever made was to jump.		  
     

(5 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Bye Bye Betta   
05:22pm 04/07/2007
 
mood: sad
Since September of my freshman year at college, a lively blue Betta by the name of Borus has brightened my day as he wove through the plants in his tank. Sometimes he has been the only thing sweet enough to make me smile after a long, hard day.



This morning he died. He was over two years old, a respectable lifespan for a Betta, but that still doesn't take away the sting now when I look over at his empty tank.

They say Bettas are the only fish that can learn to recognize their owners. I know Borus learned to do so with me, because each day after I'd get back he'd rise up from the bottom of his tank and wiggle happily in the corner that was closest to me. He loved to follow my finger across the glass. I trained him to know when it was time to eat by tapping on the tank, and each time he heard it he would hurry up to the water's surface. Sometimes he ate like a pig, and others he would worry me by not eating at all. He got sick more than a few times, and I worried for him, but after a few days he would pop back up, fins flaring, as if nothing had ever been wrong.

When he was young he was feisty and difficult to handle when I cleaned his tank. He used to fight so vehemently that once he even jumped out of my hand onto the desk. As he aged, though, he calmed down, and as I transferred him into his clean water, he would curl up patiently in my palm, knowing very well what this was all about.

I was always tickled to see what an impression he made on my dormmates. Many of my friends would ask after him, coo at him, and compliment him much the way I would. I used to enjoy carrying him around in his travel tub to say 'hi' to other people in the dorm. In truth, Borus was with me longer than any friend I have at college. Lost of people have questioned me, saying he's just a fish, but Borus brought great comfort and happiness into my life when I needed it most, and what more could you ever ask for from a friend?

It was painful to see him this morning, his scales gray, fins stiff, eyes clouded. I decided he needed something more than an unceremonious flush down the toilet like most fish receive. My dad, stepmom, and I took him down to the ocean. It's a gray, windy day, and the breeze buffeted the waves. It was a fair scramble over the piles of sandy rocks, but the water was warmer than I expected.

I let Borus go and he bobbed in the waves, looking almost alive again. The salt water brought his color back, and I watched him for a while, a tiny patch of brilliant blue against the gray-green water. It was hard to let him go, but letting him drift away on the waves seemed right.

After all, what better place for a fish to return to than the sea?		  
     

(3 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Wooooo, eerie!   
01:15am 27/06/2007
 
mood: impressed
Yup, this is pretty much me.



Your Score: 9 - the Peacemaker


Thanks for taking the test !




you chose BX - your Enneagram type is NINE (aka "The Mediator")

"I am at peace"



Peacemakers are receptive, good-natured, and supportive. They seek union
with others and the world around them.

How to Get Along with Me


  • If you want me to do something, how you ask is important. I especially
    don't like expectations or pressure.
  • I like to listen and to be of service, but don't take advantage of this.
  • Listen until I finish speaking, even though I meander a bit.
  • Give me time to finish things and make decisions. It's OK to nudge
    me gently and nonjudgmentally.
  • Ask me questions to help me get clear.
  • Tell me when you like how I look. I'm not averse to flattery.
  • Hug me, show physical affection. It opens me up to my feelings.
  • I like a good discussion but not a confrontation.
  • Let me know you like what I've done or said.
  • Laugh with me and share in my enjoyment of life.


What I Like About Being a NINE


  • being nonjudgmental and accepting
  • caring for and being concerned about others
  • being able to relax and have a good time
  • knowing that most people enjoy my company; I'm easy to be around
  • my ability to see many different sides of an issue and to be a good
    mediator and facilitator
  • my heightened awareness of sensations, aesthetics, and the here and
    now
  • being able to go with the flow and feel one with the universe



    • What's Hard About Being a NINE


    • being judged and misunderstood for being placid and/or indecisive
    • being critical of myself for lacking initiative and discipline
    • being too sensitive to criticism; taking every raised eyebrow and twitch of the mouth personally
    • being confused about what I really want
    • caring too much about what others will think of me
    • not being listened to or taken seriously


    NINEs as Children Often


    • feel ignored and that their wants, opinions, and feelings are unimportant
    • tune out a lot, especially when others argue
    • are "good" children: deny anger or keep it to themselves


    NINEs as Parents


    • are supportive, kind, and warm
    • are sometimes overly permissive or nondirective



    Link: The Quick & Painless ENNEAGRAM Test written by felk on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
  
     

(2 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Home again, Home Again   
09:08am 21/05/2007
 
mood: content
In truth I'll admit it was nice to be home, to see my family, to enjoy the timeless, easy lifestyle that pervades the farm, but coming back to college feels in a way like I'm coming back to my own home.

The drive up passed in a simple kind of lethargy. My mother and I drifted from one subject to the next as I lay back and watched the sunny scenery through the window. This time, the car was not packed to the gills, and it felt good to know that I was bringing only the things I would really need and use.

Move-in was, as is ti be expected, not free of difficulty. The card activation device, in a fit of impatience, decided to swallow my card, in effect depriving me of access to my dorm, my room, and meals. The irascible monolith of a machine informed me that there was no card in the system, and that the computer itself had malfunctioned and was in need of maintenance. This of course was impossible, since maintenance is not on campus on Sundays. Finally the one security guard on duty got permission from the higher-ups to open it up and retrieve my card from a discrete tray far in the back. Surely, it decided, she'll want her card here, where it is hidden and completely useless.

That aside, though, everything else went well. Pearl Hall is a nice place, if a bit confusing to navigate initially. While trying to find Matt, I ended up in the laundry room twice. It's nice to be in a different dorm though. It's familiar, but not so similar that it feels empty. I don't associate Pearl with thriving activity, so I don't expect it.

The room is very nice, and eerily similar to the one Steph and I had Freshman year. After making my bed I lay down for a while, and when I opened my eyes, I really thought I was back in my old room. This one is significantly bigger though, with (thank God) enough room for our couch. I really enjoyed getting everything set up. I realize I love home making. I suppose this will change when I have a real home to make.

The people here, while pleasant, don't seem to be the most enlightening bunch. Aside from the handful of folks I knew already, I don't think one person has made even the smallest attempt to introduce themselves. I don't mind terribly, since I have Bankus (about half of which has made vague plans to visit).

The bathroom here weirds me out. One of the stalls has no door, so anyone who wishes to use that particular toilet (why they would I have no idea) would be treated to a spectacular view of the rest of the bathroom (and whomever else decides to walk in) while they're doing their business. A bit awkward, if I do say so. I find myself wondering why there are three sinks, too. When will three people need to wash their hands so desperately at one time that they can't wait the thirty seconds it takes to wash one's hands?

My class starts Tuesday evening. Until then. I'm free to settle in and enjoy the peacefully familiar but slightly alien Champlain Campus and bond with Danielle, Karry, Matt, Lauren, and Rob. The two windows by my desk provide a breeze that keeps the room at a lovely temperature. I have a lovely view of the cafeteria (which I assume means the cafeteria also has a lovely view of me). Last night I fell asleep to the slapping of rain on the parking lot outside.

I think the next six weeks are going to go quickly. It will be very easy to fall into routine here, and in addition anything that eases the wait for the school year to start again is okay by my book.		  
     

(Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Too Much Free Time   
08:33pm 13/05/2007
  Friends should never give me cool web toys. I wast too much time playing around with them.

Cue Sloganizer. It takes a keyword of your choice and makes a slogan out of it. The results are, to say the least, amusing.

Check it out for yourself here.

Here are some of my results:

«Dina wonder.»
«It's not a dream. Husam is real!»
«Meesh - Think different.»
«Bobby - spice up your life.»
«And on the eighth day, god created Mike.»
«Claire, created by nature.»
«Oh my gods, it's a Becky.»
«Jenn - If you love Jenn.»
«You know when it's Danielle.»
«I'd sleep with James.»

I love how well some of these fit!		  
     

(2 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
How Awesome   
09:45pm 06/05/2007
  I've been watching this for somewhere close to five minutes now.



I just thought I'd share.		  
     

(3 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Yay Questions   
04:25pm 03/05/2007
  Well, here I am following Michelle's example, because I'm one of those people who loves to know what other people think about me.

01. Who are you, what's our relationship:
02. How and where did we meet:
03. What's my middle name:
04. How long have you known me:
05. Tell me one good thing about myself:
06. When you first saw me what was your impression:
07. My age:
08. My birthday:
09. My favorite band at the moment (any of them):
10. Colour eyes:
11. Do I have any siblings:
12. Have you ever had a crush on me (doesn't have to be answered):
13. What's one of my favorite things to do:
14. Do you remember one of the 1st things I said to you:
15. Describe me in 3 words:
16. Name 5 things i love:
17. Do you think i'm good looking:
18. How would you describe me to someone:
19. Would you ever date me (doesn't have to be answered):
20. Tell me one thing you've always wanted to say but never did:
21: What do you like most about me:
22: If we could spend a day together what would we do:
23: Have we ever gotten in a fight:
24: Do you think we will be friends for at least 3 or 4 more years:
25. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
26. What do you think my weakness is?
27. Do you think I'll get married?
28. What makes me happy?
29. What makes me sad?
30. What reminds you of me?
31. If you could give me anything what would it be?
32. When's the last time you saw me?
33. Do you think our friendship is getting stronger/weaker/or staying the same?
34. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?
35. Are you going to put this on your livejournal and see what I say about you?
36. If I was an ice cream flavor, which would I be and why?
37. What song (if any) reminds you of me?
38. If you could change one thing about me, what would it be?
39. Do I cross your mind at least 1 time a day?
40. If you could change one thing about our relationship past present and future what would it be:		  
     

(4 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
About Time I Updated   
06:12pm 30/04/2007
 
mood: bored
I read this poem at my college poetry reading and people seemed to like it. I think it's one of the better ones I've written recently, so I decided to use it to help dust off the surface of this journal of mine.

It was inspired by a power outage we had a while back, coupled with and idea I'd had kicking around for an apocalypse poem of sorts.


Well I’ll Be

It’s been raining fire for five days now.
Well, not real fire all the time.
But sometimes.
It’s mostly rain.
Really heavy rain, that digs up
The ground like teeth.
Yesterday a crack opened up in the road
From one end of campus to the other
Like a gigantic paper cut, Mother Nature’s butt crack.
And a few people fell in.
We haven’t seen them since then.
On the first day the sun ran away real fast-like.
We haven’t seen it since either.
On the second day, things started
Falling from the sky that shouldn’t,
Like tar and mud and dead beetles and things,
And since day three there hasn’t been
Anyone
Who wants to go down to the waterfront.
I think that’s on account
Of all those tornadoes that hang there like
Angry wet sandpaper
Waiting to rip your face off.

All the religious folks started praying a few days ago.
They say this is the end,
And that we should repent,
And some other stuff they try to tell us
Over the howling of icy wind and rain.
Me, I don’t know what to think
Except that the food’s getting scarce
And that bothers me.
I don’t think your religion matters much
When you can’t find food.

It was kind of fun at first.
A group of us would slosh up to
The main campus to brush our teeth
Since there isn’t any water
Where there isn’t electricity,
And there isn’t any of that in the dorms.
Now there’s none anywhere.
The days pass real slow-like
Because none of us have anything to do
But sit and wait out the end.
Scrabble doesn’t seem as fun
When a boulder might fall through your roof.

The sirens stopped on the fourth day.
I think all the firemen are dead
Or at home
Like we would be if we could get there.
It’s kind of odd,
Like none of us really believe it.
It’s like, if we weren’t all doomed, this would be exciting,
Like one big fire-filled sleepover
With no electricity or food.
People have started crying a lot
And no one sleeps much anymore.
You’d think they’d be drinking more than they are.
I guess everyone wants to stay sober
For when everything ends.
I wonder if this whole thing won’t quit in two days.
That would be irony,
And I’d have to hand it to God
If he actually planned that.

There isn’t much left to do
Except eat the last food and
Enjoy what’s left of your time with friends
Since family is unavailable
(Even by phone).
People are doing what they have to,
Like kissing everyone else
And wringing their hands and laughing real hard.
And me, I just jump in the puddles and
Look up at the sky that used to have stars in it
Before they fell.
I count pinecones
Sort of like I count our minutes left of life
And build faerie houses out of slate and
Wonder if it’s silly to plant trees.
I drink rainwater from gutters and
Thinks it’s really something that
Even the end of the world
Is beautiful.


In other news: Is it time to go back to Champlain yet? ):		  
     

(Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
A Good Omen?   
07:02pm 26/10/2006
  It was so unbearably hard to leave the warm, dark comfort of my bed this morning and make the long cold trek down to Edmunds. There's something sad and lonely about being the very first one awake in the dorm. Sometimes I feel like I can't leave Bankus until saying good morning to at least one person. I rarely ever get the chance though.

The walk down always wakes me up a little. It's hard to remember how tired you are with wind that smells like snow clamoring across your bare face. I was lost in thought on the way down and idly sidestepped a few dried leaves that skittered across the pavement. It took me a moment that the closest leaf was not one at all but rather a beautiful dead Monarch butterfly.

It startled me a bit, as I have never seen one that wasn't fluttering by me in a manic fashion, dipping and wheeling and seeming to approach you but never quite coming close enough for you to reach them. This one was cold and still, its thin legs curled under itself and its tattered wings buffeted against the ground in the wind.

I picked it up, thinking perhaps a teacher in the school might like to have it. It seemed wrong to leave such a beautiful thing in the driveway where it would have eventually been crushed. I carried it by the wings, a little afraid to touch its furry body. As beautiful as a butterfly's wings can be, their bodies strike me as vaguely alien.

I felt a little like a pleased child when I showed it to the other tutors signing in in the office. I placed it on my palm and jumped a little in surprise when it began to slowly open and close its wings. I noticed they lack the black scent glands of the male Monarchs.

Somehow the tiny thing had managed to stay alive. Nervous that it would escape into the building, I hurried back outside. The gust of cold air reminded me that she hadn't done so well out there in the first place.

It's wrong to confine a wild creature, though, no matter how small, so I gently placed her on a slap of granite outside the school and stepped back, watching her excercise those beautiful orange wings.

When I came back, she wasn't there. I can only hope that she found whatever was needed to continue the journey south. It's late, long after the migration, and the air is only getting colder. If she makes it through, maybe it's a sign that things will get better. Maybe all she needed was someone to scoop her up and give her another chance to do things right.

Maybe that's all I need too.		  
     

(Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
The Death of a Secret   
10:24pm 27/07/2006
 
mood: nostalgic
Seven years ago my mother and stepfather browsed the many shelves of the Harvard Coop together looking for a suitable Christmas gift for me. My mom pulled one book from the graphic novel section and held it out to David, asking if he thought that one might be a good choice. When she thinks back on it today, my mom laughs. She had no idea that the book she innocently pulled off that shelf would be the start of one of my deepest and most dedicated of passions to this day.

The book was called Nausicaa of the Valley of Wind, one of the very first creative endeavors of the beloved Hayao Miyazaki. At the time I had no knowledge of this Miyazaki fellow and no interest in any of his works that extended beyond Nausicaa. However, my obsession with the series soon led me to the internet in a naive and hopeful search for fandom. I found none, sadly realizing that Nausicaa was a bit of an anomaly outside of Japan itself. What I did find was a website called Nausicaa.net that kept a dedicated record of all works produced by this same Miyazaki fellow. It was there that I learned, to my delight, that there was an animated movie of Nausicaa, as well as several others done in Miyazaki's signature style. This, of course, thrilled me until I discovered that the movie was very old, very rare, and only translated into one other obscure language like Balinese.

That piqued my interest in the man's other work, however, and I spent a good deal of time tracking down information about his few films that had been translated to English. The first I ever saw was Kiki's Delivery Service, which I was given on my 13th birthday.

It didn't take me long to realize that Miyazaki's work was something of a rare breed in the U.S. Occasionally I would come across a rare gem of information, like a Japanese bookstore in New York City that had a large stuffed Totoro, or some obscure and very distant film festival that was showing one of his (subtitled) movies once for a very high price. Though I was perpetually frustrated by this elusive passion of mine, I sort of enjoyed the novelty of it. When I found another fan it was as if we shared a very close bond that the rest of America didn't understand. It was very secret and thus very secure, being a world I could access only through my own imagination.

However, that didn't stop me from wishing that people would wake up and demand that his films be translated. I wanted to see them for myself, but I also wanted others to talk to about them. My deepest desire at that time was to one day see Nausicaa in English. If you told me then that by now I would have seen it twice in said form, I would have glowed enough to light a small room.

My wish came true, of course. Nowadays anyone who has any sort of interest in Anime or Japan (which is basically everyone) knows who Miyazaki is and would probably call themselves a fan of his work. This is to be expected, of course, as it is difficult to see his movies and not be one. However, I realized that such a widespread embrace of Miyazaki's films now strikes me as bittersweet. It is wonderful that so many people share my passion, but to me it seems there is much less dedication to it as a whole. It's sort of a given that anime/computer/gaming/Japan fans have seen and/or enjoy and/or worship his newest works.

I don't begrudge them that, but so many people know nothing about the foundation beneath the dazzling features like Mononoke and Spirited Away. No one knows about Whisper of the Heart or Pom Poko or Shuna's Journey, no one remembers when it took dedicated sifting through the web to find any new morsel of information about Studio Ghibli. I hate to sound like a withered veteran lamenting the loss of the good old days, but I feel that with the increased popularity, people appreciate it less. Why dwell on the beauty of something that is so readily available? I feel as if, with many things, the magic of Miyazaki faded when popular culture got a hold of it, turning it upside down and beating the bejeezers out of it, like a bully shaking the change out of his victim's pockets.

Had I the choice, I certainly wouldn't turn back the clock seven years to revel in the marked obscurity of the world of Miyazaki in America, but I do miss that time all the same. I do realize, though, that those other fans are still out there, and I suppose this new popularity will only make me appreciate them more when I find them.		  
     

(Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
I Can Smell the Incense   
09:48pm 17/07/2006
 
mood: peaceful
Today was one of those rare and wonderful days where, for whatever reason, every part of you feels at peace. I've been having a lovely and relaxed vacation. The days flow into one another, time has no consequence, and my waking hours are filled with sunbathing and swimming on the most gorgeous of coastlines. However, something's always felt a bit absent and I only just realized that it was the deep and restful satisfaction I felt today.

My dad and brother left for Hawai'i this morning so it's just me and my stepmom for a few days. We've always enjoyed time alone together so the day started off well on it's own. We decided to go into Plymouth and ended up in a small Tibetan store with racks of beautiful clothing. It's rare that I find something I love enough to buy, but it was one of those places where you notice one thing and fall in love immediately.

The storekeeper was a gentle, gracious Tibetan man who helpfully showed us the difference between Tibetan singing bowls. He played them with such ease and proficiency that the sound, which I generally dislike, I found to be inspiringly beautiful.

Metta talked to him at checkout about Tibet and the various efforts she'd made with the Tibetan resettlement effort and the like. He seemed a little impartial at first, but slowly warmed up to the point where he was telling us about his own life and experiences with the two countries. He introduced himself as Lhakpa. I was struck by his patient, mellow nature and it made me think about how, very often, people who have had to work so hard to gain the right to live in this country never take that for granted. They are so thankful to be here and for the opportunities our country presents, even if, to us, they don't seem like very good ones. It saddens me to think about how many Americans never realize the gift they're given just by being born here.

Listening to him speak while looking around the shop made me realize how thankful I am for all the Tibetan influence I've had in my life. In Ithaca, there was a Tibetan monastery called Namgyal that I used to visit. It stood out on it's ordinary neighborhood street because it was painted in vibrant red and yellows. I used to enjoy going in and speaking with the monks dressed in their flowing red robes and sitting at the altars with candles, burning incense, Buddha statues, and shining prayer wheels. Many of the Tibetans who had come over as part of the resettlement project quickly became friends of the family. All of them were so generous and grateful, gifting us with traditional offering scarves called khata made of ivory silk and cheery, colorful prayer flags. At least one string of them was always found fluttering outside our house.

When it came time to leave, Lhakpa gave us a tanka (silk wall hanging) free of charge as a thank you for my stepmother's kindness. I was incredibly moved and left the store feeling so thankful for the goodness of some people in this world.

The perfect end to the day came with a visit to the Plymouth graveyard. It is the oldest in the country and stands where the original settlement was, overlooking the harbor from a small hill. Stepping in there and seeing old moss-covered graves from the 17th century made me feel as if I was stepping back in time for a little while. The noise from the town below was cut out and I was left to contemplate the novelty of seeing, standing near, and touching the actual graves of William Bradford and the first mate of the Mayflower. The part of me that lives for history was in Heaven.

I had a wonderful talk with Metta on the way home. The road wound through lush forest that turned to dunes, finally turning to follow the curve of the shore as we passed by shingled beach houses catching the peach sunlight on their windows. When we pulled into our driveway I felt relaxed, content and completely at peace.		  
     

(Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
I Thought About this Way too Much..   
08:18pm 08/07/2006
 
mood: amused
I have come to the conclusion that you can divide the women of the world into two categories: Johnny Depp lovers and Orlando Bloom lovers.

I saw Pirates today, which is what prompted that conclusion. I admit I wasn't expecting much but really enjoyed it despite my predictions. The slapstick humor was done so well it had me giggling like a fool through most of it.

On the way home I started thinking a lot about the triangle created by Jack, Will, and Elizabeth. Will and Jack are wonderful opposites in terms of personality and morals, and Elizabeth fits nicely somewhere in between. I never really thought about that after seeing the first movie.

Maybe I'm just dumb, but in any case my dad had to point out to me the things happening between Elizabeth and Jack. He thinks Jack's in love with her and that she's wavering between the two men. Call me blunt, but I didn't even pick up on that. I thought Elizabeth was just doing what she had to and Jack was just...being himself. It makes sense though, in an odd way, and it'll be an interesting thing to be dealt with in the third movie.

I'm an Orlando Bloom lover myself, so I certainly hope Elizabeth stays with dear Will. Though I can see why she might be drawn to Jack, with all the excitement and unpredictability he offers. William is noble and loyal and deathly honest, but I guess he might get a bit boring. Not that Jack would be a very reliable lover, though. My dad muttered something about how he doesn't understand why the girls always go for the bad guys. My step mom was quick to point out that she hadn't.

Overall it was a lovely movie in my opinion. I really enjoyed getting lost in it for a while. I'm a little nervous to see all the fandom that will inevitably pop up soon. Not that I mind fandom. It's just one way of showing your love for a story that meant something to you. However, I feel as if the movie is sort of untouchable. There's not a lot anyone can do to change what happened or improve upon it.

It's a masterpiece in its own way. I hope people will realize that and have the sense to enjoy it for what it is.		  
     

(3 Footprints | Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
Whyfor, my Friend?   
01:54pm 06/07/2006
 
mood: content
Many people have often asked me why I write. Actually, that's not really true. Very few people ever ask me why I write. But some day I'll be rich and famous because of said writing, and when those many people do start asking me, this is what I'll tell them:

I never write in hopes of creating something truly original. Billions of people have walked this beloved Earth of ours and billions more stories have have been told by those people. When you think about it, the actual possibility of writing something truly new is so infinitely unlikely that you wonder why anyone even bothers anymore.

So, with obvious reason, it is as I said that I don't expect to write anything new. My goal is to write about familiar things in a fresh and thought-provoking way. I am not an amazingly talented or special person. As such, my life is not very amazing or extraordinary either. But I do know a thing or two about that ordinary, familiar world of mine and I know how to write about it. I want to weave truth into my writing. I want people to recognize and understand exactly what I write. I will paint my canvas with the smaller truths about life. My goal is expose the things everyone experiences but no one ever talks about, and if just one person thinks "I know exactly what she means", then I will have succeeded.		  
     

(Leave Nothing But Footprints)
 
 
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