The Homeland

I am sitting in little Sagarejo, with lovely, kind Georgians, wiping my eyes from the news coverage of memorials for 9/11. May God bless those who lost loved ones. 

I have found nothing but kindness in Georgia, but oh how I miss America right now. 

 I love to travel. I was struck with near fatal wanderlust when I was a small child, but I was luckily diagnosed early by my aunt (who spent much of her life in Europe). There is no cure, but I have kept it (mostly) in check. But right now, I just want to be home for a few hours. I was working on a post about my birthday fun, but I think that can wait. And I could write about a lot of things America does/did/has that make me angry, but I won't. And I could get super deep and serious, but this little blog isn't really the place. Instead, here's my little love letter. 

I love the United States. I love it so much I'm not even sure how to explain myself. 

I found myself in conversation with a bunch of students from Europe, studying in DC, and they were telling me how funny they found it that we put our flag on bikinis and t-shirts. Our patriotism often expresses itself in silly ways - in 'Murica and stereotypes and shotguns and bald eagles. We act to the extreme because it is funny, but also because it is safe. As Americans, we are often seen as arrogant if we say we have a great country. But if we make it a joke, we can't be criticized. And it's also because we love a good joke. But I'm not joking when I say I love my country. 

I plan to spend much of my life abroad. Georgia will be the third foreign country I have spent a good amount of time in, but nothing will make my love for America diminish. In fact, the more I travel, the more I love my country. I'm sure most people feel the same about their own countries. 

I love the American mentality of "no job too big", how the accents, culture, flora and fauna vary across our huge nation. I love the social mobility, the chance America gives you. I know "life isn't fair" and America isn't perfect by any means, but I have friends who are political refugees who go to Harvard, recent immigrants from Peru who are now successful business men, Bolivian immigrant friends running dance troops, friends from dangerous inner city neighborhoods that now attend ivy league universities. I love how our Olympic team was the most diverse of all the ones you saw walk into the arena. I love our passion for volunteering and service. I love our sass. I love that I get approached by Mormon missionaries in the park. I love that I sometimes read blogs saying horrible, terrible things about America. Those things mean freedom. I love New York City, I love tiny Cordova, South Carolina. I love our stupid pop music. I even love star-spangled bikinis. 

I might spend the rest of my life abroad. Or I might go west on that All-American road trip I've always planned. I might settle down in the Appalachian mountains. Wherever I am, I will love America and I will write love letters to her. 

I spent my summer in Washington, DC and one silly, little moment encapsulated some of my favorite parts of America. I was sitting on the National Mall, about to watch the fireworks, with some fellow Smithsonian interns. An Indian family sat in front of us, the women dressed in beautiful sarees, speaking in Hindi. Suddenly, as the fireworks began a little boy from their group jumped up and shouted "EVERYDAY I'M SHUFFLING!" Everyone in the area laughed and cheered. Pop music. Multiculturalism. Shouting. DC. Fireworks.

God bless America.  

Beautiful People on the Hill

Living in DC you can't get away from politics. Political debates are a normal over happy hour discussion. Nearly every one's job is somehow tied to the government. If it's not, they wish it were. Protests and motorcades are the norm and I have been to parties where they had to make explicit "no political debating" rules. (I'll be honest, that was partially directed to me.)

Going to George Washington University only heightens the political intensity - my friend's facebook pages reads like the opinion section of a newspaper. But this isn't to say we don't know how to have a good time or focus on something other than our connections to political leaders and voting history.

 One of the beloved traditions of DC is The Hills 50 Most Beautiful People report that comes out every year (meaing Capitol Hill).  It's a thing for some people to compare which political party is "most beautiful" this year. I think I would prefer if they came out with the Most Interesting People list, because honestly, I could only get to number 23 before I became bored. You can only read about so many people who claim to be "addicted to running" and "all about eating healthy". Also, I had no idea beauty contests were even still a big deal- how were half of these women beauty queens? How exactly did that lead into a political career? (I could wax cynical about beauty and public speaking being more important in politics than education and hard work, but I'll refrain.)


Either way, some of my faves of the list!

This guy.
This woman. Way to trump Hollywood stereotypes that say women over 25 can't be beautiful!
This lady is adorable.
I love her necklace.
This man is from Georgia, and apparently a Southern Gentleman, but sadly engaged.

My Fictional (and still terrible) Break Up

I just got broken up with by a fictional character.

That may sound ridiculous, but it is entirely true. See, I just got cast in my favorite play ever, Much Ado About Nothing, with a pretty substantial role actually. It's a love story, and the guy playing the Love of My Life seemed like a nice chap, and I was excited to start rehearsal.

But then the Love of My Life quit. He left me.

Ok, so he really just left the show, not me personally, probably for very good reasons. Being in a play and in school can get really stressful and I totally understand. But rather than feel that a logical fellow student made a logical and sound decision, I thought only of the character he was playing and how that character was now gone and I was alone and would have to face being a scorned spinster for the rest of my life!

It has been a rough night.

That is how rough it has been.  

Actually, that is how The Best Friend comforts me: tough love with nerf guns.

It works.

I reacted with terribly stereotypical actions: chocolate, skype with best friend, inability to focus on schoolwork, anger, tea drinking.

It's as bad as when Laurie and Jo did not end up together in Little Women, when Joaquin leaves Eliza in Daughter of Fortune, when Katniss can't make up her mind in The Hunger Games and when that Stupid Guy asked the Cute Girl out like, three times and then never talks to her again....that book is titled My Life. Still in production.

But you know, to love is to be vulnerable. Even loving fictional characters makes you vulnerable - they may die (like Fred Weasley...that tears me up every time) or they may leave you, like the Love of My Life. We could have had it all, Love, rolling in the deep...

I know this is likely just hysteria brought on by facing my very last semester in college and all the stresses that brings. So I am just going to finish this paper about how yoga fits in with my dreams (yes, that is my homework) and go to bed with my shattered, bleeding, fictional heart made of sonnets and fairy tales.

Life Lately

I was in DC, and I survived finals, and it was Christmas time, and I came home to Georgia and we celebrated Christmas and a birthday and New Years. And that is what life has been about lately. 

I am trying to decide if I will start writing more in this blog or, 

with this bright and shiny new year, 

start a bright and shiny new blog. 

I have opinions to share, you see, also funny stories and good photos and really, 

everyone should be very interested in my life. 

You especially. 

For example, in a new blog/revamped blog I will be telling stories such as: 

the man who tried to kiss me in the metro,

 and the time I hiked a canyon in a thunderstorm, 

and how I found myself in a dance off in a DC bar. 

Am I such a great storyteller? 

Well, I did unofficially win Best Story of 2011 at a New Years Eve party I attended. 

We all shared some rip roaring tales, and my story of hanging out with a shaman and his puppies in the Amazon jungle was a big crowd pleaser.

So wether I continue here, or lead you to a new location, stick with me. I promise, it will be an entertaining way to procrastinate from that other thing you really got online to do. 

Happy 2012 to all!


ps. I revamped this blog a bit. So you can keep following me on here! I know you want to! 


PPS.  A New Years Promise (for real, pinky promise) is to write more on here. It will be good practice, and save my poor roommates from my ramblings. 

Fresh Attempt at Saving Sanity

This is how my semester started...with a tree having fallen on our library.

Yes, we have a Starbucks in our library.

It's been nearly a month since I wrote, though I had all the best intentions to regale you all with some funny and touching stories from Peru as well as my deep thoughts on being back in the District and struggling to not grow up. But alas....

Instead, I recently had a few weeks in which I had a strange allergic reaction and ended up in the ER, turned 22 years old, forgot about multiple class assignments, crowd-surfed, made new friends, despaired of my life, was excited by my life, and locked myself out of my room last night and am running off a few hours of terrible sleep on a too-small couch.

And I've been missing this place a lot. Lima.

It's been crazy, but I have realized, as I have gone about three weeks without a journal, waiting for my birthday present journal I get every year (it arrived and is cute!), that perhaps writing my stories and thoughts is just as important to my sanity as living off more than brownies. So I think, along with my journal, I will try to return to expressing myself a little bit here. And eat veggies.

Hold your breath for the next installment of my far too exciting life. I know not many people read this (though I can't be sure since multiple friends refuse to make a little profile and follow me) and so I feel silly writing on here and somehow expecting an audience. But oh well, I also feel silly locking myself out of my room and falling on someone's head while crowd-surfing. That's just how it goes.