Changing Playlist

I press shuffle and an eclectic mix of melodies and rhythms reverberate throughout the air. From Linkin Park to Eisley to Ingrid Michaelson to REM.

I have always listened to music constantly. I am one of those girls who walks around with her headphones in, tuning out the world, focusing on the lyrics trying to find meaning and truth behind their words. However, when I moved to Romania I removed the headphones and started letting the music resonate in the air and world around me. I allowed it to become a part of the nature I am surrounded in.

There are numerous reasons as to why I started listening to my music out loud. The primary one being that I spend a significant time running in the forest and I do not want to startle the bigger animals aka brown bears by running up on them, so I play my music loud and sometimes even sing along to let them know I am coming. After doing this for a few times I started noticing that I heard the music differently than before; it became a way for me to hear English out loud and to interact with my native language by singing. Surprisingly, this little act of singing in the forest while running or hiking has brought me so much joy, a sense of complete freedom I hadn’t experienced before because I knew that the forest was mine in that moment. It made me feel tiny and huge all at once.

The main change is the meaning behind my favorite songs. I have gained a whole new playlist without changing a single song by finding new meaning in the words I thought I knew so well. Previously the majority of songs I listened to took on a meaning surrounding romantic love in some sense, but now I’ve noticed a deeper layer of meaning in these same songs. Many songs are a commentary on the loneliness that humans experience on a daily basis no matter what the situation it. We can be surrounded by family and friends or completely alone in the middle of a forest, and we will still long for connection and understanding and that is what makes music so powerful. It is a way for us to realize we are not alone in our desire for connection and never will be. No matter how strong we are; we are still fragile, and that is where the beauty in life lies.

**My current anthem for the past year is The National’s England. I suggest that you give it a listen if you haven’t already heard it; it is fantastic and so are its lyrics.

Someone send a runner

Through the feeling that I’m under

For the feeling that I lost today

Someone send a runner

For the feeling that I lost today

Someone send a runner

Through the feeling that I’m under

For the feeling that I lost today

Someone send a runner

For the feeling that I lost today

You must be somewhere in London

You must be loving your life in the rain

You must be somewhere in London

Walking Abbey Lane

I don’t even think to make

I don’t even think to make

I don’t even think to make

I don’t even think to make corrections

Famous angel never come through England

England gets the ones you never need

I’m in a Los Angeles cathedral

Minor singing airheads sing for me

Put an ocean and a river

Between everybody else

Between everything, yourself, and home

Put and ocean and a river

Between everything, yourself, and home

You must be somewhere in London

You must be loving your life in the rain

You must be somewhere in London

Walking Abbey Lane

I don’t even think to make

I don’t even think to make

I don’t even think to make

I don’t even think to make corrections

Famous angel never come through England

England gets the ones you never need

I’m in a Los Angeles cathedral

Minor singing airheads sing for me

Afraid of the house, stay the night with the sinners

Afraid of the house, stay the night with the sinners

Afraid of the house, ‘cause they’re desperate to entertain’

Jumping in the Cangilones de Gualaca

We held hands, counted down

Tres

Dos

Uno

Threw ourselves off a cliff,

plunged into the cool current

and swam through a curving

canyon where slick rocks shadow

the sun. I watch children cling and clamor

up the speckled grey granite walls,

some slip and splash into the water;

Echoes of laughter reverberate

in the canyon as our smiling eyes meet.

My bare feet dangle over the edge

swinging; the sun melts the goose bumps

from my skinny legs. You bite off

the bottle cap and pass me a warm Balboa.

Sips of beer and Spanish flow back

and forth between single travelers.

My Funeral

The smell of dry
earth permeates
the air surrounding
turned dirt. I stand
watching my mourners
pass around a joint,
swig from a tarnished flask.
The jocks:
track stars, boys in baseball pants.
The artists:
wannabe hippies,
flamboyant hair colors
shrouded in layers of black.
No tears
trailing down cheeks
into the dust.

My own impurities dying, confined within a coffin.
Handfuls of dirt tossed onto polished walnut. I lean
in and sprinkle fine, red soil on the casket. I drift away
as memories of my corrupted past float by.

The headstone radiates
heat; the sun's glare blinds
the view of my two engraved
birth-dates, and a single death.

As my new life begins,
I turn and forge a new path
along cracked earth.

Pause. Breathe. Slam Poetry.

I was a nervous wreck for days leading up to my first poetry reading, actually it was an attempt at Slam Poetry. Up until this point I have been writing poetry and have been content keeping it on paper because it somehow separates me from it, like a piece of paper shields me from my audience.Writing it allows me to process the poem better and gives me the courage to write vulnerable material without it becoming too intensely personal.

However, I was forced completely out of my comfort zone this past week when my professor asked me to perform a certain poem that is extremely personal to me. He kept pushing me to make the poem deeper with every draft, and the more I wrote and deeper I got into the poem I could feel my mood shifting into a dark place. When Tuesday finally arrived I was an emotional wreck...I was having difficulty eating and focusing, the entire day is a blur. After sending my final draft in a few hours before the performance my professor told me that I didn't have to get up there and read it if I didn't want to. At that point I had spent countless hours dreading getting up in front of an audience without my paper shield and the thought of not having to perform was a huge relief. I wish I could say I knew I was still going to preform despite my professors gesture, but I seriously contemplated not going through with it.

It is now 8 PM and the room is packed with people in chairs, couches, on the floor, and in the adjacent hallways just listening. I was on the schedule to go last in the first act. I had buried myself in a couch between Tracee and a Pevato twin, fellow English graduate students. As  my turn steady grew nearer I could feel myself beginning to shake and sweat...I kept telling myself I didn't have to get up there and read. Before I knew it I was walking up to the podium and was arranging my poem on the stand. I had to set my hands on the podium to stop the shaking, the room was shaking. I was supposed to introduce myself...maybe I did; maybe I didn't...I don't remember. I begin to read. Pause. Breathe. Keep going. Pause. Breathe. Speak up and don't make eye contact. Pause. Breathe. Regain balance. Breathe. Two more stanzas. Fumble over line...once...twice...third time is a charm. Almost done. Pause. Breathe. Read. Done. Numb.

As I walked back to sit down between my friends there was applause the sound grew overwhelming in my sensitive ears as voices began to carry on conversations. I hopped, tripped and slipped out of the room. I needed quiet and fresh air even if only for a moment. I sat on some stairs outside of the building and focused on breathing and not shaking. I had done it. I had stood up in front of a room of peers, professors, and strangers and removed the paper shield and let my audience see me emotionally naked. It was terrifying; it still is terrifying. As I walked back into the room I was careful not to make eye contact because I didn't want to see that look I dread in anyone's eyes. I reburied myself in the couch between Tracee, a Pevato twin, and added a pillow as an extra measure of protection and let myself listen to the second act.

That was the night I got my voice back. 

Battle Scars

Brittle bones peeking through thin skin.

Blue veins, visible just under the surface

Of the cracked, dull membrane,

Pump life to and from a hateful heart

Spreading self-loathing deeper into every cell.

A lifestyle meticulously planned.

Every meal portioned, downsized.

Workouts designed to break the body

Yet build mental fortitude with each

Jerky click of the second hand.

A smile parts the lips when the scale

Rewards sacrifices with shredded pounds.

They diagnose this as a mental disease,

But really this is war. 

Nightmare

Every day I check box #4109

hoping to see another small, yellowed envelope

its size deceiving its content.

I wait for weeks;

they turn into months.

I don’t know where you are,

or who is caring for you.

Anxious about your safety.

All I know is you are not here.

Your letters illustrate stories

of your childhood,

secret dreams and wishes.

They are filled with trust.

The simple bond

between pen and paper

creates our complex

relationship for years.

But the lack of life in the hand

that writes the lines

destroys our growth.

I will forever cherish

the last, little letter

where you wrote of a promise

you can no longer keep.

That wish you had

to be with me eternally

when you came home.

Now I stand here in front

of all your family and friends

speaking about the person you were,

and there is one thing

I want you to know.

That I check box #4109 everyday still

hoping to wake up from this

bad dream. 

Runner's High

Anticipation,

Waiting for the gun.

The shot echoes.

Adrenaline courses through blood.

Hundreds of feet tear at the earth

Scarring the moist trail.

Elbows find their mark between ribs

Lungs burning upon impact.

Spikes gnash sweaty flesh

Ripping into ankles and thighs.

Weather and terrain pitted against

The human body and spirit.

            Tranquility,

            Rhythmic breathing blends with the wind

            Whooshing through the narrow path

            Untouched ground lies ahead

            Waiting to be conquered

            A rush of invincibility replaces pain

            All the senses focused on a single desire

            The moment engrains itself into memory

As the pace drops effortlessly

Finish line in sight

The crowds muddled cheers hang in the morning air

And the race ends,

But the moment, so sacred

Brings the runner to the line again.

Buried Treasure

In honor of spring break and the deep desire to be at the beach; a Monday morning sonnet!

Buried Treasure

The ebb and flow of waves that fall upon

a lonely shoreline crash noiselessly

on absent ears, grains of sand withdrawn

by rippling waters into salty seas.

A crab scuttles crossing weary dunes

in twilight’s shy approach, in fear of bright

moonbeams who desire to bring deadly ruin

on shelled creatures moving them to fright.

Abandoned plastic shovels, broken bottles

worn to smooth collectibles; left behind,

they’re treasure littering. Decaying goggles

buried beneath sands for a time confined.

All left behind is washed away to sea,

eventually everything will be free. 

A Poem for Everyone...My Dear,

This poem is dedicated to everyone who has been made fun of by classmates, coworkers, and strangers. To everyone who is constantly misunderstood. To everyone who has had their words and actions taken out of context and subsequently used against them. To everyone who has been publicly humiliated. To everyone who has felt the sting of rumors. To everyone who has felt unwanted. To everyone who has felt out of place in this world filled with clicks. To everyone who knows people do not want to give you a chance. To everyone who hides their pain from the world.

You are stronger than everyone who tears you down. You turn the other cheek and rise above. You are constantly the bigger person. You are more loved than you will ever realize. This poem is for you.

My Dear,

I wish you wouldn’t listen

to their pointed words,

allowing them to pierce your heart

puncturing deep inside;

strengthening from emotions

pumping through you.

Roll your eyes

at my ancient wisdom,

and believe I couldn’t possibly know

what it’s like for you now.

Defiantly believe times have changed

How harsh statements shred the skin.

Instead listen to my truths

use them as a defense against their lies;  

understand your flaws

create a unique perfection.

Know that I have always loved you,

and could never stop.

I wish you would listen

to my words. 

The First of Many Poems, Run

Running is a huge part of my life, but I also love poetry and literature. I have spent the past few months applying to Master's in creative writing programs around the country, and now I am waiting to hear back from the various colleges. So here is some of the poems I have been working on...I wrote this poem a few years ago but it is still one of my favorites!

Run

Every yesterday I ran,

it made my world better.
I ran to stay in shape;

to feel healthy from my soul to my bones.

I ran to rid myself of frustration

from power-hungry coaches

who succeed through my every step.

Today I run for new reasons

I run seeking the acceptance of uncomfortable truths

toward my first real decision.

I run to find the answer

to a choice that terrifies me.

I could stay with him forever

or run into the future alone.

I run forging my own trail;

my broken heart still pounding

as I sprint away from his concrete plans

shattering his high expectations.

Running releases me from his cage

and allows me to find freedom.

I am running.

That is my answer. 

The Week That Flew By

In my continued efforts to catch up on all the events…I have yet again fallen behind. Either I neglect my blog or my own personal journal; this is a dilemma I have yet to find a solution for…So to continue on where we previously left off. I last left you with the adventures I encountered in Dover, so we will begin the following day, 17 October 2011.

It is a typical Monday in London. I get to sleep in a tad and kind of meander about until two o’clock when I have Shakespeare class. Now class was not memorable, but the class outing that evening was. We attended a play this evening, and it had a very prominent star in its cast. Ralph Fiennes was Prospero in The Tempest. Ralph Fiennes??? Where should you know him from? Well I will clue you in…he is a romantic in Maid in Manhattan, evil in Schindler’s List, a Duke in The Duchess, and probably what he is most famous for recently is his role as Voldemort in Harry Potter. In the play we saw he did not look as creepy as he does in Harry Potter though, he does have a nose, real eyes, and actual lips. Now where to begin with analyzing this play…hmmm…well the acting was amazing in my opinion and I enjoyed listening to the speeches. However, the production as a whole was very different from anything we have yet seen. The producer of the play has been a producer of musicals for quite some time now, and he created a Shakespeare musical form of The Tempest. When watching the show you would forget you are watching Shakespeare because the emphasis was not on the beauty of the words written, but instead on the lighting, sound effects and creating musical dancing numbers within the actual written play. I would have loved to see the same actors put on a minimalist set like at The Globe Theatre.

Tuesday and Wednesday are days spent in Hoxton, one of my favourite areas of the city, since it provides more of a small town feel in the incredibly large city of London. Outside of my internship I was eagerly trying to get ready for Fall Break by doing laundry, contacting the car rental company to ensure that everything would go smoothly and trying to figure out how to pack a whole week’s worth of warm clothing into a backpack. The solution to this dilemma was to wear the majority of my bulky clothing and pack the smaller layers.

That was probably the quickest overview of a week I could possibly do. But next up is the adventures Fall Break provided for our crew...some are good while others induced tears...

Stratford upon Avon Weekend

I know I haven't written lately, but the internet and my computer do not seem to get along well here, so I have given up on my laptop for the time being and I'm resorting to one of the computers in the lounge. Anyways, they are testing the foundation of the building right now and just so happen to have scaffolding set up in front of the door to my room...no room or peace for a while but that's a great excuse to go exploring :)

This past weekend the Central College Study  Abroad group went to Straford upon Avon. The drive there was so beautiful., I have never seen such green rolling hills. Everything was picturesque. On the drive there we stopped at Blenheim Palace...the house was beautifully historic, but it was the gardens and paths around the grounds that put me in awe. I can't describe the beauty accurately but I know it is by far on of the prettiest sites I have ever seen. It made me stop and just still my mind which if you know me is something that's really hard for me to do. After having a few hours to explore we hopped back on the bus and continued on our journey to Shakespeare's hometown. When we arrived we went on a walking tour to become oriented with the town and learn about it's history, and I visited William Shakespeare's grave!! (morbid? yes, but also super cool) After that I had my first experience with fish and chips in a pub near the site of Shakespeare's home.
The next day we went to a quaint town about an hour away called Burton on the Water, and it was probably one of my favorite experiences so far this trip. There were many cute shops and places to have a cream tea, but instead I wanted to follow the river...random I know but it led me on an adventure haha which I love. Finding a route to follow this little river wasn't exactly easy, but it was so worth it. Daniel (a guy in my program) and I found this little path that ended up leading to the river, and the first surprise was finding a basket of apples with a note telling people to take them. The apples wern't fully ripe but it was free food and I can't pass that up. We continued on this tiny dirt path along tranquil scenery while its raining on us and then we cam across a fork in the river and the end of the path, but this would be another location that just put me in awe. I'll post a picture soon hopefully. We started heading back into town but decided to hike up to the top of this hill which was massive in my opinion. When you reached the top you could see the town in the valley and the rolling farm land surrounding the town. The countryside of Britian is perfect; I could never get tired of looking at the views. After all the walking or hiking I had my first cream tea which is so good that you just know it's terrible for you, but after all the walking it seemed fine. That night we saw Macbeth, I thought it was pretty good, but my seat was really uncomfortable so that distracted me from the play some. We went to the Dirty Duck afterwords, the place most the actors in the plays go after the show, and partook in British pub culture.
The next day we left Straford upon Avon for good. I'm going to miss our bed in breakfast, the beds were super comfy and the owner was very entertaining during breakfast. Since I finished my breakfast everyday I won a date with my favorite famous person, I should be getting my gift certificate soon...On the way back to London we stopped by Oxford and looked around for a while and I got to see where they shoot scenes for the Harry Potter movies and watch some rowers on the river. The campus isn't what I expected but was still amazing, and come to find out graduate school is cheaper there than in the US...maybe a future option to consider. Well that was the weekend. It was packed full of aimless wandering and getting to know the people in my program, and in my opinion very enjoyable.