how I felt for a long time

Man! I feel like a woman...

Totally had the best girls' night out last night. I really haven't had that in awhile, so it was nice to get out of Hicksville and back to Seattle. Also, it was nice to get out from under the ever-watchful eyes of two sets of ordained ministers--my parents and my pseudo grandparents. They're great, but it's nice to get around people my age where I can let my hair down.

Last night I met up with three of my gal pals from college at one of their homes in Seattle. From there, I drove us through a circuitous path to Ballard where we showed up early to a show at the Tractor Tavern. Like almost two hours early. So we went to sushi instead. I had seaweed salad for the first time and a couple of sips of sake. New experience. Not sure if I liked the sake, but it was ok. I'm pretty sure it could grow on me. :)

At the Tractor Tavern, I had my first experience getting carded, even though I'm turning 23 this summer. I still have remnants of the "ok" stamp on the inside of my right wrist. At the tavern, friends decided I needed to drink, even though I was the designated driver. Don't worry, they're experienced drinkers and were careful to make sure that I was still very sober by the time it came to driving.

I ended up, over the course of three hours, having two weak-ish (I was told) mixed drinks. The first, which my friend dubbed a "princess sunrise," was a Malibu with pineapple. I really liked that, actually, and wanted to drink it way faster than I did--which is probably a good idea. The second drink was a screwdriver, which grew on me as well after I got past the idea that I was drinking citrusy robitussin.

Let's see...oh yeah, the show. :) The show was great. The first performers were a local group called Anomie Belle (I think). The second performer--the reason we went--was Fink. Fink, as one of my friends put it, has a sound like sex and cigarettes--very gritty jazz. He was amazing. The third performer, well, she was good, but we were tired.

We ended up leaving around midnight and headed to 5 Point in Seattle to meet up with a photographer guy one of my friends met at the show. GOOD food there. Great waitress. Loved it!

Anyway, got back to the house at 2am, and I was so tired...unfortunately, I had coffee at 5 Point to make sure I could stay awake enough to drive "home" so I couldn't sleep for awhile. So I was lying on the couch, trying to sleep, and my heart was racing until 3am. Still, it was a GREAT night. :)

summer open letters (from June 20)

Dear Readers,

I apologize for the cliche-laden blog I posted yesterday. I was tired and a little overwhelmed, and when I write in that condition, I produce cliches en mass(e?). I contemplated leaving it as a private entry, but then thought, what's the use? So against my better judgment, I posted it. Please forgive me. It'll probably happen again.

Apologetically,

Quesse Lome



Dear Estranged (your word, not mine) Friend,

I must admit, I was a bit surprised when you contacted me yesterday. The last time we "talked" was the day before graduation. I remember because my family was wondering why I was crying. Anyway, next time you decide to strike up a conversation with someone, would you mind making it longer than three text messages? I mean, if you really want to talk to an "estranged" (again, your word, not mine) friend, typically you talk longer than that.

Mind you, I'm actually ok that you didn't talk longer because each new text buzz I felt made me nervous all over again and that would have ruined my delightful hike yesterday. I hope the reason you stopped talking wasn't grievous, like a car accident. Here's to figuring out if it's worth salvaging our friendship.

Cheers!

The Other Estranged Friend



Dear Summer,

Oh there you are! How nice of you to finally come out and play. :) I've missed you.

Love,

Your Biggest Fan



Dear Manchester State Park,

I am incredibly sad that you were so close to me the whole time that I lived in Port Orchard, and I never tasted of your goodness before yesterday. I am more than thrilled with your multitudinous trails, your forests, your beaches, your views of Mt. Rainier, your hordes of chipmunks and robins, and your stunning palette. I plan to visit you again soon and maybe spend another two hours wandering your acreage.

Delightedly yours,

Nature Girl



Dear Body,

I am sorry for abusing you. You have served me well these (almost) 23 years, and I do not have the right to treat you so shamefully. You've carried me faithfully across four continents, throughout historical sites ranging from the Romans to the Post-Modern, and I should treat you better. After all, we still need to see the Amazon and the Great Barrier Reef.

Sincerely sorry,

Bethany



Dear God,

Thank you.

Love,

me

la clef (ironically, pronounced: "clay") [from June 19]

The key (or "clef") that I uncovered whilst abroad centers around my willingness to sacrifice, and I am so unwilling. Verbally, I admit wanting to live my life overseas, doing what God called me to do. Inwardly, I think of all the ways that I can go about that process in the most selfish manner possible. I think the angels might cringe at that. I do.

So here I am, a living sacrifice that keeps getting up off the altar and wandering on my merry way. I want to be devoted to God, but my heart strays and the rest of me follows. I want to be molded by God, not by my own desires or the world around me. I want to be thrown down, spun around, lifted up, and held firmly and unwaveringly in the hands of the Master Potter.

Still, my prideful heart rejects the pushing and the firm hands. I lash out and say that I know what I'm doing, and I can do it on my own. I don't need Your help. When He backs off, I turn away, trying not to see the mournful gaze of rejected Love.

Finally, when I fall, helplessly tangled and hurting from further inside than I can identify, I cry. I don't even cry out for a long time, because I still think that I can manage on my own. Once the tears are dry, I will be able to see again, and I will be able to fix this mess. But when the tears are gone, I still don't see, and then, once I sacrifice my pride again, He returns to once again throw me down, spin me around, lift me up, and hold me firmly and unwaveringly in His masterful hands.

woe is me (from June 17)

I feel pretty pathetic these days. I am living with pseudo grandparents in Port Orchard, which is GREAT to have a "home" to be in and my parents are here too--for now. I'm grateful for this, but I also feel like a leech because I have no job and I have no energy to look for one.

In fact, I have very little energy at all. I get at least ten hours of sleep every night, but when I wake up in the morning, I feel like I haven't slept at all. Then I'm drowsy all day until I get to bedtime at which point my head starts hurting behind/around my eyes--my signal that I need to sleep more. Or, my right ear starts ringing, which is a SURE sign that I need to go to sleep.

Also, to my chagrin, I currently weigh 20 pounds more than I did a year ago--10 pounds of which I have gained since graduation. (Being an RA added the first 10 pounds.) I would like to exercise it off because, frankly, I can't afford to buy new clothes and mine are getting tighter. However, I don't have the energy to exercise, and the last time I left the house to take a walk, I ended up with a cold. So. I'm not too inclined to get out and do that, but I'd really like to start running again. There's something so freeing about taking off through the woods or down a lonely stretch of road, which we have in spades over here.

Have I mentioned yet that I feel utterly pathetic these days?

marriage is so never going to be on my horizon (and I think I'm ok with that)

I have a guy friend from college--yeah graduation!--and he and I have a pretty honest, open dialogue going between us which is kind of ironic because part of this year I hated him. Long story. Anyway, now we have witty banter most days via text and discuss any number of silly and serious subjects.

Today, for some reason that I cannot remember, we were discussing marriage, and I made a comment about how I have serious doubts--at this point in my life--that I will ever get married. He said he doubted that, and I said, "Tell that to the line of suitors at my door." The conversation continued from there with explanation and debate throughout.

I said I didn't think that I would want to endure that kind of heartache--dating--again, which pretty much rules out marriage, which is PERMANENT. (Or should be except in certain cases.) He said that there actually are a handful of decent guys in this world capable of not mauling my heart. I said I disagreed even though I do believe in miracles.

Then I added that I have very high standards--impossibly so--which brought up the point that why should I have standards for something that I don't want in the first place--marriage. Or maybe that came before the previous paragraph. I forget now.

Then I said that I didn't want to inflict myself on another guy, to which he responded that he thought I was a very nice person, even a blessing. I said that as a friend, I'm fine; in intimate relationships, not so much. I basically become a bitch. Granted, I should take into account that my only dating experiences included depression and suicidal thoughts on my part for significant portions of those relationships. Yeah...suicidal, depressed me is not a pretty sight. I become a horrible, horrible person.

And a big part of me wonders...if I ever date again, will I become depressed again? Will I lose myself? I lost myself in my first relationship and didn't really find myself again until after the last one. Funny thing, I kind of LIKE who I am when I'm not depressed. I'm sweet and confident and fun to be around and crazy and beautiful and free, and I don't think I want to mess that up again.

Shoot...I didn't mention that in the conversation earlier. Maybe I should have.

Try the vodka, Comrade!

Before certain of my readers freak out about the possibility of this blog containing anecdotes about alcohol and drinking, let me assure you that there will be none. I just wanted a subject line to draw you in. Muahahaha! Also, my mother and I made borscht the other day, and I keep wanting to call people "comrade" when I offer them the leftover soup. Speaking of which, I'll eat some in a bit. That parsnip, potato, carrot, cabbage, and beet yumminess is calling my name.

Why did we make borscht? Of all the soups in the world, borscht is really one of those not quite on the radar of the average American citizen. Well, the Cosby Show influenced it inadvertently with an episode about home remedies for colds, and then my Ukrainian roots shouted out above the noise of American mass-media, and I said, "Let's make borscht." So we did.

[complete and total subject change]

Last night, I had fitful sleep sprinkled with a nightmare and other bizarre dreams. When I woke up from the nightmare, I was so scared that, if I hadn't been practically paralyzed in bed, I would have gone to my parents' room and crawled into bed with them. I was absolutely terrified and ended up praying and crying to get past the fear.

So that dream took place in Africa during a situation that I can only compare to the Hutu/Tutsi genocide in Rwanda. Mind you, I have never been to Rwanda, nor have I ever directly or indirectly witnessed genocide anywhere in the world, so I don't know where this dream came from. I didn't watch any movies recently about racial conflicts, read any books, or scan any online articles. I have NO IDEA where this dream came from.

My parents and I were in what seemed to be an African hospital room with a door that opened out onto a courtyard, then an open street with a field across it. In the hospital room, two African women were in the hospital bed, but they seemed to be in good health, but that's how dreams go, right? It's at night, and in the open field across the way is a mob of African men with torches, machetes, who knows whatever else, jumping around and shouting hate-filled slogans in their native tongue. (Again, there were no specific tribes in the dream, but I can only liken it to the Hutu/Tutsi conflict in '94.)

My parents and I are trying to evacuate, but we know that there's no way that we can leave the hospital when all of these incensed men are across the street. They'll spot us and kill us before we can get anywhere. So we're packing up a few things to take with us, and the women in the hospital bed are happy as larks, which makes no sense because I think they're the other tribe involved in the conflict.

It gets to early morning when the sky is just starting to lighten, and my dad looks out the open door of the room to where there is now nothing across from us. We--my mother and I--have just a few things left to pack, so my dad says, "They're gone," shoulders his backpack, and heads out, adding, "Good luck!" as he disappears out of sight. For the record, my dad would NEVER do this. Seriously, my dad would never leave his family in the midst of crisis, even if we were "right" behind him.

So my mom and I are grabbing our things--for some reason my mom is transferring her stuff from one purse to another--and then a German nurse comes by, peeks her head in, sees that the African women are sleeping, and says, "Well why don't we shut this door?" and effectively removes our only method of escape.

Mind you, all we have to do is open the door, but as there are no windows on that side of the room, we have no idea what could be on the other side of the door. Then a German--I don't know why German, but that was the case--doctor comes along, opens the door a bit, just enough for us to see his wizened face with glasses, a beard, a bald pate with tufts of hair flying out around his ears, and asks, "How are our patients doing today?"

Then, like in a horror movie, he slowly opens the door up wider and in the doorway behind him is a sea of hate-filled African faces just waiting. There was absolutely NO ONE outside before the doctor showed up and then all of a sudden... Anyway, then I'm on the ground behind the bed, trying to find a hiding place under it, but one of the men crouches down on the other side, sees me, and then calls me out--I don't know why I turned all cowardly and left my mom out in the open.

And then I woke up from the dream, but I'll never forget that wall of faces or the eyes of that man who saw me under the bed. I know this probably doesn't sound terrifying to you, dear readers, but it made me rethink my parents returning to Africa in July. Boo.

My other dreams I can't really remember right now, except for bits and pieces. One of the dreams included ships at sea, those ships being of the buccaneer persuasion, and the one I rode on being laden with booty. Arrr. Another dream involved a cross-country RV trip in a nice RV, not like the the dumpy one we lived in for a year back in 1995. Arrr...gh. I feel like there was something else really weird, but now I can't remember.

Anyway, my purple soup of borscht goodness calls.

I want to take this moment to say...

...that I am alive. Yes, even though I feel like I am one of the walking dead, I am, in fact, living. But I'm not moving very fast, so even if I was one of the walking dead, you'd be able to outrun me no problem.

I am afflicted with the common cold, also known as a rhinovirus, and I feel like I'm suffering from ebola. Ok, not really, because my insides are staying there and not gradually melting out of every pore and/or orifice of my body. Phew! Close call there.

I mentioned to a friend today that I would rather have malaria than a cold. I would much rather be puking my guts out in a delirious state than be practically functional in the same way that a zucchini in a crisper drawer is functional. I'm not starting to mold or get squishy in spots, but I'm not exactly doing anything worthwhile either.

I went to church this morning, but I felt like a walking petri dish. I'm on a steady diet of otc cold medicine, cough drops, various fluids, and the box of Godiva chocolates my uncle sent me for graduation. Although supplies are running low, I should be able to restock when necessary, except for the Godivas, but I'm willing to sacrifice.

Since graduation, I have been gradually reading through my new stock of books--Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Water for Elephants, and now I'm on to Le Petit Prince, which I purchased at a French bookstore off Rockefeller Plaza. I'm pleasantly surprised at how easily I'm following along in the book in spite of being in a generic Dayquil induced haze.

By the way, I never realized how entirely useless I would feel with a BA.

Oh oh oh, woke up today with a headache! (from June 4)

So I'm back from the east coast, and I don't know where to begin to talk about it. I had such a fun time--withholding riding, seemingly, invisibly in the backseat whilst my parents bickered. We saw all kinds of monuments and parks and memorials and shows and stuff. I say "stuff" because there's was just too much to see and all became something of a blur after awhile.

We flew to DC last Monday and set out from our hotel to the Mall to take in the monuments at night. Saw the Washington obelisk, a new memorial to WWII, and the Lincoln memorial--all of which look really cool at night. (I'll post pics eventually, don't worry.)

The next day we took in the Holocaust Memorial during the early afternoon. WWII has always been a fascinating period in world history for me, and I'm especially drawn in to the Holocaust. It might be because our family has Jewish ties or at least because my mother emphasized the tragedy to my sister and me growing up. Maybe it's because I have an overly developed sense of justice and am very sensitive. Maybe it's just because I'm human. Whatever the reason, the Holocaust always affects and intrigues me.

Now, I've been to Dachau in Germany and seen firsthand the gas chambers and the cremation ovens. I've walked between where all the barracks were. I've heard the stories from concentration camps, and I've read about the Nazis' inhumane scientific experiments, tortures, and various cruelties. I was very impressed by the Holocaust Museum/Memorial's approach to the subject at hand and how it synthesized information from before Hitler took power to after the war was over, showing step by step how his regime affected the Jews, the Roma (gypsies), homosexuals, evangelicals, Jehovah's Witnesses, Russians, Poles, mentally and physically handicapped individuals, and so on.

What I did not like about the memorial was the school groups. Teenagers--particularly ones who are incapable and/or unwilling of grasping the concept of the Holocaust--should not be taken to this museum/memorial because they did not respect the memories of the dead or the experiences of the other museum goers who were--very often--personally affected in one way or another by what they saw. However, I can only hope that one day those teenagers will be able to get a clue.

Other sights seen in Washington, DC, include: the Capitol building, the Library of Congress, the Museum of Flight, and Arlington Cemetery. I had no idea how large Arlington was. Once you're standing in one of the lots, you look as far as you can in any direction and you see rows and rows of white headstones. We went to Arlington to pay respects to a young man who used to be in my parents' youth group before they were missionaries. He was killed in Afghanistan last year.



Ok, this is a long enough blog, and I have "stuff" that I need to get done today. I'll write about the rest of the trip later. Maybe I'll throw in a blog about India again--just to mess with you, gentle reader. ;)

Badlapur, May 7, 2008, midafternoon

[BLOG WRITTEN IN RETROSPECT]

The first time I saw him, I thought he was a small one year old. With medium brown skin, big brown eyes, and sitting up, Sandeep had thin arms and legs--little more than skin and bone--limply attached to a small torso. Sitting on the bottom mattress of a bunk bed in Jubilee 4--one of four homes in Badlapur where Bombay Teen Challenge houses orphans and children rescued from the streets and/or the red light district--Sandeep looked very tiny and somewhat overwhelmed at the sight of eight white people standing around and looking at him.

Then Timothy--our guide for the day--told us that Sandeep was four and a half years old.

I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around that. When I first saw him, I knew that he was undernourished, but I had no idea by how much until Timothy told us more about him. Four and a half years old, rescued from the streets the previous week, brought to Jubilee 4 just in time to save his life--all of these details silenced me into thought. My heart hurt and my head reeled.

As we got to know the other children at Jubilee 4 over the next week and a half--or so--we found out that the other children at this home ranged from Sandeep's age up to about nine or ten. Both girls and boys live at Jubilee 4, and about half of those children are HIV positive. Some of their mothers were/are prostitutes, and some of them were simply brought to BTC (Bombay Teen Challenge) because their parents had found out that they would be cared for at BTC.

Because of their health concerns, Jubilee 4 has a nurse assigned to them and every night, the children obediently go through nightly medicinal regimes. They receive good healthcare combined with a clean environment, nutritious food prepared by Daniel the cook, filtered water. Educated on site, these children also have daily devotionals where they sing, pray, and study the Bible.

These children put my faith to shame with their intensity and perseverence, but the fact of the matter is, most of these children already have seen the dark side of humanity firsthand. They know that God makes the difference in life, and their faith is rock solid. I am very excited to see how their lives continue to shape up as they grow and mature. They're going to be movers and shakers when, or if, they grow up.

Please, remember these children. They have so much promise, and they are definitely better off than they were, but the fact of the matter is that with half of them HIV positive, we really don't know how long they will live. (There are so many variables with HIV/AIDS.) They are precious, sweet children who love automatically and blessed my heart.