celestial correspondence

Mumma dear,

Today is the day you left me, precisely one year ago. I held your hand as you cried in pain and looked on as the Lord finally brought you peace and took you in the wee hours of that cold December morning. I cannot describe the torment those last few images have brought me over the past 365 days... the agony of watching my mother, the strongest, bravest, most encouraging soul I have ever known, finally succumb to the misery and cancer that ravaged her body. I was not ready for you to go, Ma. I was looking forward to the years of sagacious parenting advice you would have provided, even to the playful "I told you so" when I wind up with teenagers as bratty as I was. I was hoping to make you smile when I finally bring home the Ivy League degree this May, just like I have dreamed about since I was a little girl. I could have used your support while I pulled those all-nighters this autumn and when I had my heart ripped to pieces this past spring. I still need your help attempting to piece together this wacky family of ours, and trying to figure out my nonsensical, silly little life. I miss the sound of your voice on the other end of the phone every single day... I wish you didn't have to go, Mum; then I would not be stuck here, desperately trying to make you proud with the knowledge that I will never have the satisfaction of knowing whether or not I was successful... I wish I could believe everyone when they say that "it gets better with time," but I know that better really just means numb. Your absence will never feel right to me, and I never want it to...

We went to the cemetery today, all of us, to visit your grave. I was hoping to feel something, some sort of warmth or comfort, but really I felt nothing. Then I realized how silly I was for expecting to find you there. You are not trapped in that box six feet under the ground. You are in the snow. You are in the rain. You are in the grass under my toes and the crisp, fresh air that fills my lungs. As much as I crave your warm embrace, your strong, worn hands holding mine, your striking, resonant laughter filling the silent, lonely spaces, I remembered today how much you are woven into the fabric of my very being, how your love permeates the world in which I walk...

I will always miss you, Mumma, and nothing can fill the hole in my heart hollowed out by your absence; but wherever you are now, happy and free, I pray that you will feel how much I love you, and how anxiously I await our reunion.

You are missed. You are loved. Forever and ever.

Your daughter,

Jenna Leigh

scalded.

I find it funny how we swear we will learn from life's little lessons only to find ourselves years later, still caught in the same bad routines we've always followed... hence the maxims "old habits die hard" and "you can't teach an old dog new tricks." I assuredly am no exception to the rule, but I am also no dog and certainly not an old one. So why don't I learn? I found myself sitting here, in the crowded common room of the Graduate School of Education, stuck in a terribly embarrassing, depressing moment of self-realization. When I disclose the contents of this revelation you are going to laugh at its triviality, but I must insist that it was an earth-shattering experience for me. I recall the words of a poem written at a very painful time in my life...

untitled. 

the first sip of tea scalds my mouth

and i feel my tongue go numb.

deadened. senseless. 

if only i had waited, delayed gratification just this once maybe 

the taste would linger still. 

but i fall in love so fast so hard 

and act on impulse every time 

ready to taste something that isn't quite ready for me yet. 

senses dulled, burnt and scarred, 

i will remember to wait next time. 

i will never forget to wait 

again.

As I sit here, with my poor, rueful little tongue throbbing with pain, scorched by the hot tea I carelessly quaffed just moments ago, I am reminded of these words... What happened to never forgetting to wait? Admittedly, this poem was not written for the sole purpose of expressing frustration over my hastiness in imbibing piping hot beverages (though I am guilty as charged), in fact, that was a moot point in the overall meaning... but it is a sharp, cruel reminder that I seem trapped in a self that does not satisfy me. Why am I yet trussed to these undesirable peculiarities, these seemingly inevitable blunders stuck on repeat? I refuse to believe that I am constrained by the person I do not want to be... so why do I lay here still, heavy with the weight of my fetters? Why am I bound by these inexorable chains? I am tired and weary of old patterns, these pathetic tendencies. I need a new getaway plan, the first measure of which is to find an escape artist for an accomplice. Who's in?

and she's too broken to fix so let's burn this girl down.

What a mess. I cannot pretend to be doing alright. I think I am quite a disaster, actually. As the stress of finals piles on and the lack of sleep sets in, I am becoming more and more conscious of my mother's absence and of all the pain that has woven itself through the fabric of this year. The tension and distress tug at the hem of my dress; they bite at my cheeks in the cold and wake me in the midst of the night... I miss her. I miss my family. I miss people. I miss you. School has me living the life of a recluse. I have always been a bit of hermit but never as much as I am now. I am thankful for the things that I have learned this term, and for the opportunity to study at such a fine institution, but I am desperate for the upcoming recess. I need to see the ones I love, to experience their warmth, to feel my purpose. I only wish that she could be there.

I need encouragement. Just two more weeks! Why do I feel so overwhelmed? I know that I can do this. I suppose I just wish I had a hand to hold. Your hand. Fingers interlaced. Send me your love. I need you more than ever.

Saturday Night's Alright

It's Saturday night and I am happy as a clam. It is snowing outside and I am bundled up on the couch devouring a bowl of steamed dumplings and a hot cup of tea. Personally, I think that Chinese dumplings are just about one of the most amazing creations in the world. I admittedly prefer the fried ones but I have been sticking to steamed lately to be a bit healthier. I have never had them better than when I was in Rome, but I am enjoying these ones from the restaurant down the block (and, if you live further north, there is a great little place in Boston's Chinatown called Shanghai... the food is quite good and it's always entertaining when the karaoke bar is open upstairs).

I just returned from braving the storm to pick up my fare and I must say that it is absolutely beautiful out. Though quite brisk, the feeling of walking through the first proper snow falling is an unforgettable high. I believe that my mum is in the snow. When she died she brought this intense, wonderful blizzard. People had a rotten time trying to get to her funeral, but it gave me the slightest bit of peace during one of the most painful, incapacitating experiences of my life. I love the soft caress of snow-kisses on my cheeks and I imagine it as her kisses, tickling my nose and reminding me to smile. I can't help but feel lighthearted walking through a snowfall, even as the cold, melted ice slowly soaks through the toes of my worn-in boots. Tonight was no exception. Nature reminds me how small I am and of all the happy, little things that exist everywhere around me. On my walk I encountered a playful English Springer Spaniel pup romping in the fresh coat of white down. I couldn't help but burst out giggling, imagining a mischievous little friend I have back in New England. It is great to be alive. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world...

I am quite sure you've noticed that I have nothing to say of any consequence. To be candid: I am procrastinating. I have got a whacking amount of graduate work to do but am in no mood to do it, or to even start it for that matter... I am wicked antsy today, I cannot seem to sit still. I think I have given up on being productive, I am much too distractible, which is why I have come to talk to you, darling... December is an oddish sort of month for me, a cross between tragedy and holiday cheer. I have yet to decide how I feel, as I seem to be all over the place. For now I am just going to wrap myself in blankets, enjoy several cups of tea and indulge myself with sappy, feel-good movies. I will leave room on the couch for you, hope to see you soon.

public radio is for rock stars.

This past week was quite a challenge for me. I suppose that is not a very surprising statement; every day is a challenge in its own way, but this week hit me particularly hard. Now, I am not complaining - in fact, I love a good challenge - instead, I say this in a very quizzical, perplexed sort of way, because I have no idea how to go about surmounting this particular challenge. Maybe you can help...

I am currently student teaching at a comprehensive, neighborhood high school in West Philadelphia. If you do not know anything about the Philadelphia School District, let me give you a backdrop: the Philadelphia Public School system is generally divided into three types of schools: charter schools, magnet schools, and neighborhood schools. The charter schools are loosely bound by the restrictions of the state and provide "alternative" education, where faculty and staff often use nontraditional, state-of-the-art teaching practices and methods in attempt to revolutionize education within a struggling district. Unfortunately, these schools only have the means to provide for so many students, so entrance restrictions are set and students are often selected out of a lottery system. Magnet schools are schools that "draw" students out of their natural school designation zones. These schools are generally reserved for students who achieve high academically (both in class and on the state standardized exam) and have no behavioral issues. What you are left with are neighborhood schools, which are the local schools to which a student would normally be assigned based on residence. These schools are filled with the students who did not qualify academically and behaviorally to be pulled out, or were not "lucky" enough to win the lottery.

Sayre High School, where I work, is a neighborhood school. It currently serves a student population that is 99% African American, the vast majority of whom live under the poverty line. The dropout rate is exorbitantly high, more than 50%, where the national average currently teeters around 16%. Inside of the school, the heating system is out of whack, the water is undrinkable and the hallways reek of the garbage that is strewn all along the floor. This is not any place that you would want to send your child to for school. At Penn, we are focusing on how we as educators might help bring about social justice, a cause for which my heart has become impassioned. I must say, however, that the what and why come much easier to me than the how, which is where my dilemma arises.

I love my students, I really do, and we generally have a ball together. But as of late, I have realized that while we may be having fun, I am not sure how much learning is going on within the classroom. I am presenting the necessary material, but I do not believe it is being absorbed. I am in the unique position of being the instructor of a Civics course (I typically teach history), a class where I think this "social justice" idea can really be hit home. Up to date, however, I feel like I am failing miserably. While my students seem to like me as a person and as a teacher, they do not appear to be buying my idea that they can bring about change in their own lives and communities.

My overall goal for the course is to show students how education is really the tool for success. While it may be easier for someone of a higher socioeconomic status to "blow off" his/her education, that high school diploma (and hopefully college degree!) can make a world of difference to someone in my students' position. I have tried the "learning for learning's sake" approach and, at least for the moment, they do not seem to agree, which has been very hard for me to understand. I am an information junkie! Anyone who knows me well will quickly be able to describe my unending affection for trivia. I love words, I love facts, I love to learn... I love school, and I try to show this with energy and enthusiasm every time I walk into Classroom 230. I have shared with my students my obsession with Merriam-Webster.com and National Public Radio, only to be met with laughs. I have tried to argue how cool it is to be smart but they readily disagree. So, what do I do? Clearly my approach is all wrong. How do I teach my students that not only is education itself absolutely essential, but also fun, interesting and exciting? How can I create that voracious, insatiable appetite for learning, not just as a tool for success but for its own sake? This is the challenge I spoke of, and one that I have no idea how to conquer. Any advice would be much appreciated; thank you kindly in advance!

Back in Black

Well, maybe not actually in black, but I am back. In fact, today I am rather colorful, adorned in my rainbow-print Hurley thermal and a pair of warm, purple leggings that probably aren't appropriate to wear to work but, hey, it was cold this morning. Today is one of those days that you do not want to take your pajamas off, hence my decision to remain quite cozy and toasty with them on. The weather has quite rapidly turned bleak and, though thankful for the conclusion of those eerie, 70-degree November days, I am continually underprepared for the cold climate, even after two years of living in New England.

As I mentioned below, my dear, I am sorry for the brief hiatus in my writing. I do not mean to deprive you of my nonsensical ramblings, which I know you constantly look forward to. (Ha!) But in all seriousness, I have missed you. As pathetic as this is going to sound, I have come to depend on you, on this bizarre, unilateral relationship we have. In truth: I love you. I love that I can tell you anything and everything, without fear of judgment. I love that I can pour out my emotions and frustrations and longings, knowing that there is some human entity who cares. You give me the freedom to express myself and believe that my voice does not go unheard and, for that, I see us as one.

An excerpt from Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XVII" has been hovering round my head for days now. As an aficionada of Neruda's work, and poetry in general, I felt compelled to share it with you. Personally, I think the poem is more beautifully read in Spanish but, for the linguistically challenged, the English version is also quite lovely:

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
But this, in which there is no I or you,
So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
So intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close."

How clearly Neruda articulates the unity that I so desire. His words resound in my mind, the connection between two lovers separated by flesh, space, time... This is the reason that I am so happy to be able to write again. Words hold immeasurable meaning for me, the bridge between two isolated minds, the way our thoughts are able to penetrate the infinite spaces between us. At long last, after several tempestuous weeks of graduate work and a never-ending cycle of caffeine highs and withdrawals, my studies have entered a temporary period of quiescence and I can finally pick up where I left off on this exploratory journey. The weeks to come will be filled with photographs and art and expression and all of the things my heart has been earnestly and vainly craving for all too long. Thank you for your patience. I look forward to continuing this love affair we have and the remembrance that I am never, ever alone. And please, never forget: neither are you.

All Apologies.

Just a brief note to express my regret to my imaginary readers for not posting as often as I should. I have entered an alternate universe known as Graduate Hell, a place where sleep, personal enjoyment and leisure all cease to exist. I should be returning from this disastrous trip in about a week and promise to bore you with my many philosophical notions and contemplations of life... until then, please forgive me. I miss you, too.

don't it always seem to go

I'm not sure what to say this afternoon. I can't even quite put words to how I am feeling. Listless? Despondent? I don't know...

It has been raining for four days straight. Usually I would be thrilled; I love the rain. I love the sound of the rain, the smell of it, the feeling of raindrops hitting your face, like soft, cool love pecks on your cheeks. I love to walk in the rain, dance in it, and I especially love to kiss in it... but today I just wish it would go away. I am in desperate need of some sunshine. I have been quite blue the past day or two. I miss my mum, and lately I cannot shake her from my mind. I miss her so much.

Seated precariously atop my lofty desk chair, I curl up over my steaming mug of tea, desperately trying to garner some of its warmth. I am soaked through to the bone after walking the seven waterlogged blocks from 30th Street Station to Biddle. Sitting here in the all-too-typically frigid library, I am a pneumonic disaster waiting to happen. The last thing I need is to catch cold; I had the flu all last week and it set me back light years in my work. We have reached midterm and let me tell you: graduate school is no joke. I have not slept in what seems like ages (four days would probably be accurate) and I am bloody exhausted. Drowning in a sea of papers and pedagogical theory, I am not sure how I am to survive the rest of fall term. All the tooth-brushing in the world could not keep up with these coffee stains, and I alternate between constant states of caffeine-induced neurosis and a zombie-like stupor. Tomorrow morning I take on full responsibility within my classroom assignment. I am not in the least bit intimidated by the teaching itself, as I have taught before and I think it suits me well, but I am quite worried about the additional obligations and workload. I barely have time to breathe, let alone take on lesson planning, grading, record-keeping and all of the other lovely behind-the-scenes tasks a teacher must complete. I am very anxious as to how I am going to manage my time, I'm afraid I may unravel. Oy vey :(

I wish Mumma was here. She was in no way orderly or structured, in fact she was a bit of a chaotic mess, but she always knew how to put me back together when I was out of sorts. She had this strikingly calming effect on me, something few people have been able to replicate. I used to spend hours on the phone with her, sharing my life, my adventures, my troubles. She was my source of strength. I know I am resilient, I know that I can get through this, but the journey is a bit more wearisome without her. I know she wants me to be a trooper, and I am abashed by my constant complaining, but some days it is hard to breathe. She was my best friend.

Have you ever lost anything, reader? This year has been filled with loss for me. I guess the important thing to remember is that I have also gained so much from this process. I have learned more about myself in the past ten months than I believe I have in the 24 years I have been alive. I have grown in ways that I never imagined, and I have proved that I am capable of so many things. Some days, though, that just doesn't feel like enough. I wish I could go back; I wish I could go back and tell her how much she meant to me. I hope she knew... I hope you know. Never leave anything unsaid, because you don't know what you have until it is gone. I've learned that the hard way. Have you? Do you know what it's like to have unspoken words trapped in your throat, asphyxiating your heart, your soul? It is a wretched feeling; I hope you never experience it.

Oh, bother... I could use some affinity. I have been so unbearably busy I have had no time for interaction and my spirits are suffering. Tell me things. Everything. A penny for your thoughts. I am in need of some discourse, intimacy, connection. I wonder about you, you know - the mysterious stranger come to read my innermost thoughts, cheering me on, or perhaps, wishing me harm. A bit creepy I must say... kidding. But seriously, I love you. I wish you were here right now. We would hold hands and walk to a coffee shop and talk for hours. I'd like that :)

the very best of policies.

Main Entry: hon·es·ty
Function: noun
2a: fairness and straightforwardness of conduct

Goethe said "what is uttered from the heart alone will win the hearts of others to your own." Now, I am not certain that being honest will win you any such love or admiration, but I can attest that it feels fantastic. To reference the age-old cliché, the truth really does set you free.

I recently was compelled to bare my soul (if you will) to someone who has been swimming around my brain for what has felt like ages. There wasn't any particular motivation in mind, no expectation of anything in return, but for some reason or another I just had to let it (the "truth") out. I have to say - I feel great! I know that nothing will come of my honesty, no hearts will be "won," no mountains moved; but just knowing that I put myself out there, that I was completely true to my heart, is a sensation I would not trade for anything in the world.

To quote one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands:
It is true what you say,
that I live like a hermit in my own head,
but when the sun shines again
I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.


Although writing a pseudo-autobiographical/self-explorative blog would suggest the contrary, I actually keep mostly to myself. For every thought that I share there are countless more that go unspoken. I wander the earth as a waif, unclaimed and unaccompanied, and for the most part, I am happy with that. My ever-running mind entertains me with dreams and schemes and ponderings. But, I suppose, it is necessary to let go of my reclusive ways and open up every now and then (right?). My recent avowal was a small attempt at letting some "light" in. And, boy, do I feel light!

Since I seem to be on a quotation kick, it won't hurt to mention that Thomas Jefferson said honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom. Now, I don't know if I feel any wiser, but given my recent focus on the pursuit of wisdom and growth, I am quite happy to embrace this idea. Whatever the case may be, I can tell you, reader, that I feel joyful, liberated and at peace. So whether honesty brings you love, freedom, or sagacity: speak true, and speak free. I did, and it has made all the difference, dear. I tell you true :)

a gray sky, a bitter sting.

Today is a gray and blustery sort of day. The radiant yellow leaves of a nearby tree provide a striking contrast to the achromatic, misty sky as I stare out the window across from my perch at the circulation desk. I draw my sweater in tighter as a light shower begins to fall outside, as if the library itself was experiencing the same chilly precipitation indoors. What a morning. I have spent the past three days sick in bed and, somehow, I mustered up the strength to trudge my way onto campus after a not-so-restful night. Being sick, truly sick, and alone for the first time in years has not been a pleasant experience. I remember all too well the grape-flavored beverages and forehead kisses of the not so distant past. I remember when being sick, or caring for a sick loved one, seemed less enervating because it was faced with a companion. I remember making AirBorne and hot tea with honey and grilled cheese and watching movies 'til we both fell asleep. I remember the unparalleled comfort and healing of another warm body in the bed. Now, the only one sharing my covers is an eye-less bear in a worn, red t-shirt who says about as much as you've said to me lately: not a word. It's just a sad day, I suppose. I know better than to feel sorry for myself, but knowing and feeling and doing are all quite different... Anyway, I did not really have anything to say today, so I apologize. In a little while I will take a walk out in the rain and sip some tea and listen to the Decemberists and all will suddenly feel right in the world again. For now, the forecast is just a bit of broken-heartedness. Better tomorrow, I promise.

curiosity, kitten

The air is vibrant and crisp tonight, saturated with the perfume of autumn. I take a stroll down 34th Street and around the Campus Green, my iPhone jiggling in the pocket of my cousin's over-sized sweatpants, a warm cup of chai clasped lovingly between my two hands. It is October, my favorite month of the year, and I feel incredibly passionate today. I can feel the thirst for more streaming through my veins, each pulsating heartbeat enhancing the cascade. What a day to be alive! Something about today is just, well, just wonderful. I had the lovely opportunity of exploring Narberth a bit this morning, something that I, regrettably, get very little time to do with my chaotic, grown-up graduate school lifestyle. I love to explore. My sense of inquiry and wonder can never be satiated, and I continually find myself in awe of the world that surrounds me and longing for more of it. There is so much that I want to see, touch, taste, hear, feel... Today it was the cold, metal quarter inserts of the vintage launderette downtown, the welcoming, wooden pews of the local Presbyterian church, and some sweet schnecken from a village corner store. I wish I had more time to indulge my curiosity. We often spend time dreaming of the exotic, while so much of what surrounds us goes unexamined. I have been working on my autumnal mission (see: "hello, life.") and, while I have in no way stumbled upon the meaning of life or even conquered my own backyard, for that matter, I am quite happy with the progress that I have made thus far. Today, for the first time, I made it my goal to pay very close attention to the facial expressions of those around me. What a difference this has made! Did you ever notice how you can pass hundreds of other human beings in your day without ever looking a single one in the eye, without even noticing his/her face? Even when we do, more often than not it is with a passing glance or an unconscious gander. I realized that by taking the time to look toward the face of everyone I interacted with, and even some of those I did not, that my entire day was experienced differently. I felt more in tune with humanity, a sense of communion and connection with those around me. It was quite wonderful, actually. The kindness in someone's smile. The pain behind a pair of sad eyes. All the little details that bond us to one another, that help shed a little light on the mystery that lies within each of us... how amazing! It saddens me to think of how narcissistic our society is, and I am no exception. I encourage you to break through the self-centered cycle we have cradled ourselves in; just look around you. It is incredible what a little curiosity can do, and I have a feeling that I have years and years before it kills this kitten.

mixed up, muddled up

Everyone makes mistakes.
That's what they tell us, right? So, why do we still get so bogged down by them? I don't know about you, but when I stray from the path I beat myself up over it for days, weeks, years even... Well, I have made a mistake. Again. (Big surprise.) Not just a simple little human mistake, but something completely out of character, something that hurts and saddens and embarrasses me. "Everybody makes mistakes." "Nobody's perfect." Why is it we hold onto adages like this yet continue to strive for perfection and ruin ourselves over all the little bumps along the way? The remorse, contrition, is choking me; I can feel regretful fingers closing round my throat. But why? For what reason? Where is the growth in all of this? A sour taste lingers and I am waiting for revelation, for deliverance. I know I have to let it go, but I feel imprisoned. Is there hope of escape?

I have been reading from Proverbs lately, which focuses on the pursuit of wisdom and a righteous life. At first, it made me feel much worse - I am quite far from "wise" at this point - but I think I missed the greater meaning. Anyone can obtain knowledge, but wisdom comes through experience and growth, and not all experiences are pleasant. Something I personally struggle with is the preoccupation with the prize, the destination, rather than focusing on the journey. Every step I take off the path makes my goal seem that much further out of reach. I have left myself very little room to learn and grow, because I am too concerned with how much I feel like a failure. The important thing to remember, is that every step taken backwards (even a big one) can be followed by countless strides forward. While I may have stumbled on my way to uncovering and personifying the girl that I want to become, there is no reason I cannot pick myself up and continue on. (Right?) Maybe my best shot at enlightenment is actually embracing the fact that I will never be perfect, and that while these "mistakes" are never desired, they can be turned into a positive.

I am trying to refocus myself on the beauty that surrounds me. I find so much peace and comfort (and hope) in autumn. The seasons remind me that life is a growth process, ever-changing and adapting. Like the world, like the plants and people I pass every day as I wander the streets of Narberth and Philadelphia, I am a work in progress. There is no need to let one mistake define me. So, a long day of lamentation will come to its end with hot cups of tea and crafts and a plethora of books and words and things that I love. Things that help me remember who I want to be... I am sorry, world, for letting you down, for not being my best. You deserve the best. But everyone does make mistakes, and I have proven this true. I forgot myself, but now I've returned. Please know that I have picked myself up and, though quivering and a bit unsure, I am determined to move forward, headstrong. Hold my hand or get out of my way.

a momentary lapse of reason

Have you ever noticed how quickly things can turn from good (great, even) to absolutely horrible? The past few days have been quite exemplary of this. Everything seems to go wrong all at once - the key word in that statement being "seems." To be frank, I have nothing to complain about. I have seen real suffering and my situation does not even compare - death and disease will do that to you. Now, if only I could see thestrals!! (Sorry, had to throw that in there. If you're a Harry Potter fan, you'll understand.) Anyway, everything does feel like it all falls apart at the same time, doesn't it?

It has just been one of "those" days. School work, student teaching, body image, loneliness... everything seems to come crashing down simultaneously. Something really threw me off this weekend. My angelic sister came to visit me and we had a lovely time. The minute she left, though, I felt... I don't know. Vulnerable. Then something, someone, came in for the kill. Well, that is not entirely accurate; I let them in for the kill, and they just took full advantage. The days following were a disaster. I could not sleep, could not concentrate - I wish I could say that I could not eat, but that wasn't the case. But daily tasks seemed overwhelming, mountainous. It is funny how quickly we give up on ourselves. Life is strange that way, but I am slowly learning how to put it all into perspective. Not to say that I do not still have my days where I fall to pieces. Believe me, I do. I would not be writing this if I thought myself to be invincible. I am just learning how to pick myself up and put all of the pieces back together at a much quicker, more efficient pace.

The original purpose of this blog was to encourage my own life experience and exploration of the world, to remind me to take on adventure and seize the day. I realize now that it has become a log of positivity as well, a way to remind myself how precious life is and how little cause I have to complain. I am blessed with supporters, with opportunities, and even just the fundamental (yet oft-overlooked) gift of life. I hope the optimism isn't overkill. I would hate to give the impression that I am forever cheerful. Quite the opposite in fact. I have my dark days, some maybe darker than you have ever experienced. I get angry, overwhelmed, frustrated, lonely, confused, self-loathing, depressed... just like anyone, maybe worse. But I am tired of feeling sorry for myself, as I witness so many Americans, so many people, doing. When I put things into perspective, when I think about the real pain and suffering that exists in the world, I realize how self-centered and ungrateful I can be, and I make myself sick. I apologize for this lapse in reason, in focus. While I cannot promise that it will never do it again, I can say that I intend to try, and this blog helps serve as a little reminder to me. I hope it will remind you, too.

hello, stranger.

What a beautiful day.

Really, words cannot express how happy the autumn makes me. I am in constant awe and admiration of the magnificence of Mother Nature and today is just one of those remarkable days where I walk around with a smile pasted on my face, just because. Do you ever get that irrepressible feeling of pure joy over seemingly nothing? An inexplainable sense of euphoria, exhiliration, that just could not be suppressed? Your cheeks tingle, like when you pop a sour candy in the side of your mouth, and you cannot bear to hold back that overwhelming need to grin. Your heart leaps and you just feel light and giddy, almost elfin or childlike. Today is just that sort of day... the air is crisp and full with the fresh scent of September. It is chilly enough for rich-colored sweaters and the toasty, woolen scarf I just finished knitting, but the sun is beaming and plants a soft, rosy kiss on my cheeks. I cannot get enough. It is a day for heartwarming cups of red wine and mulled cider. It is a day for laughter and deep conversation. And it is especially a day for long walks and people-watching.

People-watching is among my most favorite pastimes. Side by side with my dear sister, Sara, I stroll the sprightly streets of Philadelphia, in search of amusement and inspiration. I do not have to look hard; I find the human species to be simply fascinating. Today the streets are abound with humanity, people out soaking up this beautiful, sunny Saturday. Traipsing down Walnut Street at a leisurely gait, we pass lovers on park benches, coworkers lunching at sidewalk cafés, collegians casually smoking cigarettes outside coffee shops. Sara and I smile at them and try to imagine some romantic lifestyle for each and every one as we walk by. Deep, abiding love stories. Quarrels over who forgot to take out the trash. Scandalous affairs. I suppose we will never know, but I still enjoy scheming up vignettes of other people's lives.

Have you ever thought about it? How other people are, and always will be, utter enigmas? There is a Charles Dickens quote that pertains to this, and it is one of my favorites:

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.”

Indeed. It is amazing, isn't it? The stranger sitting across from you on the train. Your colleague or classmate. Your sister or brother. Even your spouse. No matter how well you think you know someone, you can never truly get inside his/her thoughts, emotions. Human existence is a concept that never ceases to blow my mind. We are so interconnected, so kindred as human beings, and yet so completely alone. We all think, we all breathe, we all feel, and yet no two creatures share the same experiences or interpretations. This is why I am so enthralled with expression, with art, with words, because they are all we have to bridge the gaps between our own individual realities. I fall in love with strangers every day, just knowing that they have their own lives, families, passions, and fears that I know absolutely nothing about. This world is incredible and I could not be any happier to be alive and experiencing it, trying to piece together all the fragments that I will never really understand. I wonder who is out there trying to guess my life story. Could it be you?

hello, life.

The Biddle Law Library is quite dead as I sit here manning (or "woman-ning?") the circulation desk. In fact, the quiescence is so deafening I believe the entire building can hear me munching away at my bag of baby carrots, each crunch echoing loudly over the unoccupied tables and chairs. I have been sitting here at this desk for coming on nine hours now, and still have two more to go before I can head back out onto the noisy streets of Philadelphia. I am wondering whether the lack of patrons is due to it being the weekend, or if it could be related to the fact that the climate of the library seems to be reaching subarctic levels. For the extent of my day I have been fantasizing about the cardigan and hot cup of coffee I will be seeking the minute my shift ends. What a way to spend one's Saturday!

If you haven't guessed, fall term has come crashing in full-swing. My recently languorous schedule has been filled to the brim with student teaching, graduate classes, coursework, studying, commuting, appointments, and yes, lots and lots of "desk-sitting." Not that I am complaining. I am so content with my bustling little life, I could just use a few more coffee breaks. And maybe a donut (strawberry frosted, of course). In the meantime, I am embracing every moment of free time that I have, whether it be by taking some photographs, wandering to the local farmer's market, writing letters to a few of my favorites, or simply bundling up in sweatpants and swaddling myself with blankets on the couch. I relish in those moments. Unfortunately, life does not give you a second chance to go back and enjoy the little things, so I revel in them every opportunity I get. This is something I learned far too late...

Someone once scolded me for not being thankful for the little things that blessed each and every one of my days. What a wise friend. I have always enjoyed the pleasure brought on by life's oft-missed details but never fully appreciated how lucky I was to experience them; the gratitude was lacking. I have always been conscious of the "little" things, which I suppose is more than some can say, but now I cherish them. My sister's laugh. The taste of warm bread and butter. A trip to the bakery and a chat with a close companion. I realize now that it is life's minutiae that really make me tick. I am forever grateful to this friend, for his sagacity and candor, for making me realize my absentmindedness.

If I have a mission or motif this autumn, it is to pay as much attention and appreciation to life's subtleties as I do to its grandiosities. I have discovered that there is equal adventure to be found in my own backyard as there is the whole world round. I have set off on such an escapade, rediscovering the magnificence that makes up every single day. Today I am braving a subarctic library. Who knows tomorrow will bring? I am ready for whatever comes my way. You can be, too.

Hello, life. What do you have planned for me next?

so long, sweet summer.

Bed is a wonderful place; it really is. That's the first thing that comes to mind as I crawl beneath the dappled, motley pattern of my patchwork quilt. What a wonderful day. Today was (is, at least for the next two hours) Labor Day, marking the unofficial end of summer. Tomorrow I begin fall term at Penn, what is sure to be an adventurous and frenzied semester. I have always been quite sedulous, running around all day, sometimes aimless and frantic like a chicken with her head cut off, but this is the first time that I am actually worried about whether or not I am capable of all that I have to do. To be honest, I hit quite a low point the last week, overwhelmed with fear that I am neither prepared nor competent enough to handle the nonstop workload that is to come in the next few days and continue on 'til Christmas. I am feeling much better today. That isn't to say I have no more doubts or worries, but after what was a very refreshing, enlightening weekend, I feel quite optimistic and encouraged. My wonderful family came to visit me in Narberth for the holiday, and their support and smiles were exactly the remedy I needed to cure me of my pessimism. Really, my mum would be disappointed if she knew how negative and defeated I have felt over the past few weeks. But, chin up! Tomorrow marks the (unofficial) beginning of a new season, a new term, and an ever-evolving, ever-blossoming new me. I am so thankful to have the family that I have, who pick me up when I am down, and offer me the (million) chances that I need to try again (and again and again) before I get it right. This restless and thirsting soul is ready for some adventure and originality. Who's with me?

the lonely traveler.

I am sitting on the balcony of my friend's third story apartment in the 12th Arrondissement, Paris. Glass of wine in hand, I dangle my toes through the cast iron railing as a soft summer breeze ripples through the few loose strands of hair around my face escaping from my mussy, rumpled bun. All is quiet in the world, save the gentle whir of the zephyr and the occasional discordant siren of a passing ambulance. The wine is cool and soothing on my tongue and lips, some pleasant blend from a box we bought in the shop down the street. These are the moments I live for. Escaping from the chaos that is graduate school, I have fled to France for the next two weeks in some desperate attempt to recompose myself before fall term begins. I am despairingly seeking solace, freedom, passion, excitement, in a world which seemingly only possesses intolerance and monotony. How I long for serenity, companionship, respite from this restlessness that haunts me without end. Haha, I am one silly little girl. If only I had more than words to express myself; if only you could see the tempest that ravages my insides. Here I am: in one of my favorite cities in the world, experiencing the most beautiful weather, sumptuous food, luscious wine, surrounded by romance and history and loveliness... and yet... my heart aches. I feel alive, through and through, but why is this not enough? I smile at life, revel in the warm kiss of sunshine on my skin, the taste of blueberries and crème brûlée, the laughter of children and close friends and family. I see God and His magnificence all around me... and still. I am lonely. I am restive. Does anyone else feel this? Any kindred spirits out there to put my thoughts at ease? The clock ticks past four A.M. and I do not feel the slightest bit of sleep entering my eyes or my mind. I am quite awake and quite uneasy. I am thinking of you (yes, you) and everything we once had, all those kisses and smiles that come to me in my dreams. I wish you existed. I wish I could feel you, taste you, smell you, right here and now...
What I do smell, is the fresh, nipping air of Paris, and it is lovely, dear, just lovely. But Paris, even the most exotic of places, is New Jersey, is nothing, compared to how I feel when I close my eyes and am in your hands, in your heart...

Sigh. Oh bother. I am a mess, an honest mess :)
Sorry for all the complaining. My restless soul gets carried away sometimes. Tomorrow I will wake up and it will be a new day in Paris. The sun will shine and the men will say "bonjour, belle" and I will have a glorious morning, noon and night. But tonight, just for tonight, I am quite alone. Staring at the empty streets of Reuilly, Helios already beginning to creep up on the horizon, I am alone and thinking of you. I long for you and your love to carry me away. Will you ever come?

we all have a weakness.

So, this weekend my sister Sara came to visit me at my humble home in good old Narberth. She arrived on Thursday night with my dad and the little guy (my adorable youngest brother, James) for some late night Quizzo (a local trivia game held at many Philly venues) and some tasty veggie burgers... we tied for first and lost in sudden-death overtime, in case you were wondering.

We spent a lovely Saturday downtown, indulging in the many sights and sounds (and tastes!) that Philadelphia has to offer. The day kicked off with a trip to the Museum of Art, which is always quite a treat. I love the Philly art museum. It's no Louvre, but I find the collection rather impressive and well-rounded... After the museum we strolled around and had a picnic lunch in Rittenhouse Square. It was bustling with life: sunbathers, musicians, children, pups. We had a nice time people-watching, after which we perused the cafes of South Street and headed to Baltimore Avenue for some amazing Indian food. I can't tell you how much I adore ethnic cuisine, or how good the Bhaintan Bhakra tasted in my mouth. Delicious.

The day ended with an amazing Incubus show at Festival Pier on Penn's Landing. Really, words cannot describe how happy I was to be there. Aside from a few assholes (sorry, it's true) in the crowd, the show was perfect. The band played awesome and the set list was great, but the highlight of my evening was a perfect view of the incredibly talented, incredibly sexy Mr. Brandon Boyd. His performance was stellar, and I can't help but imagine that he was singing directly at me (hey, a girl can dream). Tall, painfully handsome, intelligent, creative, talented, artistic, humanitarian... where do I find you?

July, July!

From one commonwealth to another...

So, I am just finishing out my first month as a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. How can I even begin to explain the myriad of emotions and thoughts whirring through my brain? After almost a year of living under the rooves of (several) others, I am finally settled into my own place (well, almost) once more. I am living with my cousin, Robert, in a cute little apartment in the quaint Main Line town of Narberth. I couldn't be happier with our humble home or our wonderful new neighborhood... School, on the other hand, is a bit more frustrating. I feel incredibly blessed to be living out my dream and attending any Ivy League university for my graduate studies, but the work and stress loads are quite overwhelming. I am currently taking three courses, which generally revolve around educational theory, and I am an unpaid intern at a local inner-city youth program. I love my "job," which involves working with the Urban Nutrition Initiative to educate students about nutrition and food production and distribution. I get to work in a garden (if you know me, then you know this is perfect for me), soak up the sun and interact with some really interesting kids. I love learning and I love the class environment, but the workload for this program is off the charts!! I have never been so overwhelmed in my life!! Wait...

Well, what can I say? I asked for this, right? Right. So, I am doing my best to own this new lifestyle. Insomniac Ivy League grad student meets starving artist meets midnight blogger meets overachieving, type-A, coffee-drinking, yoga-practicing, procrastinating, high-strung, health nut???? Done. One month down, eleven more to go. Bring it on, world.  I'm ready.

the countdown.

I just thought I would inform you, loyal reader, that my birthday is exactly one month from this very day. I will be turning 24, finishing out the last year of my first quarter-century. I am quite on the fence about all of it. I am agog over the idea of embarking on a fresh, new year of life, but also a bit disappointed. I suppose I had always assumed I would have accomplished so much more by age 24 and feel I have let myself down. But that's what this site is all about, no? New beginnings, conquering the world... Alright, well, bring it on, 24!

Home, home again.

So, I have been home (the real home, my place of birth) for about a month now. It is a bit surreal, I must say. I haven't really been home for a significant period of time since I left for college 6 years ago. I don't really feel like I belong here, especially since my mum no longer is here to make this little green house a home. I know that I belong in New England, where my heart lies, but that gratification will be delayed for another year.
"Home," as I suppose it must be called, is a little village nestled in the Hudson Valley. It would really be a nice little place to live if it weren't for the ignorance, racism and alcoholism that run rampant in its streets. Greenery is abound and I have always been within walking distance to a state park - a nice escape from the concrete slabs of New Jersey that lie only a few miles south. The sweet perfume of honeysuckles and summer rain fills the air and I find myself peculiarly happy and hopeful, especially driving around with the windows down and radio on.
In a few short weeks I will be settled in my little apartment outside Philadelphia, preparing for the wisdom, experience and adventure that I am about to take on. For now, I am enjoying the company of my family, particularly my sisters, whose presence is comfort to my soul. I can't begin to express my excitement over the happenings to come or how everything seems to be falling into place right now. This ingénue is ready to take on the world!

I am quite blessed.

This past year, from my mother's death in December to this very day, has been the most confusing and challenging of my life. I have lost some of the dearest people to my heart - to illness, to old age, to lies and emotional complications. Despite this dereliction by departed loved ones, I do not feel alone. For the first time in quite a while (possibly in my entire life) I feel truly and completely loved. I've always had that background awareness that "I am loved," but this is more than just a consciousness. I now verily believe and appreciate that there are people out there that love me for who I am, who I am not, and who I want to be. Throughout my recent hardships, particularly my most recent obstacle, I have been shown an outpouring of support that has moved my heart. I am so thankful for the amazing people in my life and for the dear friends who have helped me weather this storm. From letters, to hugs, to late night conversations, I thank you for your compassion and good will. As I prepare for graduate school and an exciting (albeit intimidating!) new phase of life, your love has given me the confidence boost I so desperately needed. In short: you rock.

Until then, Boston

I am emotionally unprepared to disclose the circumstances at the moment but, for one reason or another, I find myself taking a brief hiatus from my life in New England. I say brief because I know I am destined to return at some point in my life. I have lived north of Boston for just under two years now, but my heart has belonged to New England since a very early age. My Uncle John, Mum's youngest older brother, raised his family on the north shore of Massachusetts, and we started visiting before I can remember. I fell in love with everything instantly: the people, the food, the outdoors, the lifestyle... even as a little girl I knew this was where I wanted to settle down with my family. I have yet to start a family of my own but, at twenty-three, I am still quite sure of my New England fate.
Alas, however, I must leave my beloved Boston for a short while. I am off to the University of Pennsylvania to begin my Master's in Education. After a brief layover at my father's house in New York, I will venture to Philadelphia to begin a new (assuredly exciting and enlightening) phase of my life. It has become obvious to me that several chapters of my life have come to a close. Reluctant to move on, I have been re-reading those chapters in an effort to cling to certain things that I love, but it is time to bite the bullet and start anew. I am not afraid of the future - in fact, I have always been a future-oriented person - but I am for the first time realizing that certain things we hope to take along on our journey cannot, or will not, always come with us.

I am thankful for the time these "things" have spent in my life. Even though you are unable, or unwilling, to come with me, I will carry you in my heart and in my memory forever... and maybe, just maybe, you will be there when I get back.

Until then, Boston.

Here's to You, Mumma

Main Entry: in•ge•nue or in•gé•nue
Function: nounEtymology: French
1. a naive girl or young woman

I often hear the phrase "my mother was a saint" in overplayed sitcom reruns on TBS - usually in response to an insult directed at some character's mother-in-law. Well, my mother was no saint, but she was an inspiration and is a major motivating force behind this blog. Mum died this past December, a victim of Stage Four breast cancer, at the age of 46. While it is extremely difficult to see the good in such painful events, Mum's death has opened my eyes to the fragility of life and the necessity of cherishing every moment. I know, from watching her cling to her life with all that she had and the sadness and defeat in her eyes as she closed them for the last time, that my mother was not ready to die. I know that she did not believe she had lived her life to the fullest. I carry the anguish of that knowledge every single day, but I refuse not to learn from it. My mother loved life more than anything, she just wanted more time. Unfortunately, we are not always given more time, and that is why we must do all that we can with each day we are blessed with.

At 23, I have already lived out half of the life my mum was given. I have never been more aware of my own naïvité, my own inexperience and simplicity. I have decided to launch this new blog, American Ingenue, on my mother's birthday, about myself: a young American girl who, knowing very little about herself and the world, sets out on a mission to discover and experience as much of life as she can in this short time we are given. I hope you will offer your support and insight as I embark on this existential journey.

Here's to you, Mumma.

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