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I wanna go home rull bad today.
It started with the Mexican food that my neighbor cooked on Friday. She made taquitos/flautas and sopes. I was trying to get out the door, she invited me to eat three times, and I managed to say no the first two times. Her husband's guacamole is divine. So I ate 3 taquitos and 3 sopes. And then I went to the event (with the ex-Jesuit) and served canapes to RH donors. And then I ate 3 more taquitos. and maybe 3 more sopes. and I tried the other appetizers too.
but theres something about deep friend corn flour surrounding fatty meat and cheese. smothered in guacamole and a bit of Mexican sour cream. it tastes like home.
When Jouni was here, we ate Vietnamese. I ordered coconut water and almost cried when it came. It was so good.
Yesterday, I ate Chipotle. It was good, but it wasn't the same.
***
Ashley asked what I was looking forward to most in August. The following list exploded out of my mouth:
1. Mexican food
2. fresh fruit that isn't transported thousands of miles first
3. being close to the mountains
4. being close to the ocean
5. warm summer nights
6. being able to call people with my cell phone
7. being able to text
8. having access to my moms car
9. going camping with my friends
10. being able to call my best friend and actually spend time with her before she moves to Utah
11. seeing those Fresno boys again.
There are so many beautiful things about being here, but man oh man, 40 never seemed like such a big number...
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
another person's opinion on my experience here
I met a character from one of Mary Jo's books last night.
He's the Jesuit who left the order to start a family.
Jack told us last night "he's more of a Jesuit than I'll ever be" (to which the man rolled his eyes and shook his head)
He's now working internationally for the Jesuits in his retirement. He looked sternly at the three female interns sitting on the bench across from him. "Be careful. Once you get involved with the Jesuits, you'll always stay involved" ..whoops...
...
later he asked me if Romero House had "ruined me for life" like the Jesuit Volunteers say that JVS does for their life. I told him I really didn't like that term at all. He explained that I was "ruined" from ever enjoying dominant culture, or capitalism, or all these other things. I told him I still didn't like that term.
I prefer ideas of a more infinite Yes. Being open to a greater existence, a world of unseen possibilities, etc, etc.
...
Being a "Ruined" person implies that I could never go back even if I wanted to. It alludes to "ruined women" who, having lost their virginity, could never be accepted in proper society again. It implies that I have no choice in the matter. Me, having had one singular experience, would be automatically rejected by society. The experience entered me, and I having experienced it, am ruined. No turning back, and I have not influenced anyone or anything. I have been altered, and must live with the consequences. He assumes that before we enter into these year-or-two-long experiences we were pure and naive, maybe even innocent.
I viscerally am disgusted by that idea.
...
I, being Presbyterian (apparently), prefer the idea that I have been walking this road since before I was born. That I am who I am, and I will be who I was meant to be, and this is but one experience in a long string of experiences. I am richer for it, I am stronger for it, I am wiser for it.
I am not ruined because of it.
...
After I leave here, I will continue to stretch and grow, and think about things. I will continue to live alongside people, to address issues of poverty and injustice. I will continue to read, to question authority, to pray and to sing (badly but happily). I will love children, I will fight for families. I will keep learning to budget. I will read the news. I will laugh. I will go shopping (sometimes even at Wal-Mart, when I'm really desperate and the event is about to start). I will make things from scratch, and I will repair things that break. I will buy plastic and cheap furniture when I move into a new apartment. I will garden, and I will buy mangoes imported from across the world. I will drink tea and talk dirty with women from across the globe. I will call my friends, and be glad to hear their voice on my coltan-dependent fancy cell phone. I will be angry at the news sometimes, and I will take full advantage of my US citizenship to travel anywhere in the world (almost).
...
The world is not black and white. I am neither ruined nor pure. I reserve the right to interact with the world as myself, outside of categories or assumptions. I have been me for many years before this one. I will continue to be this person for many years to come.
He's the Jesuit who left the order to start a family.
Jack told us last night "he's more of a Jesuit than I'll ever be" (to which the man rolled his eyes and shook his head)
He's now working internationally for the Jesuits in his retirement. He looked sternly at the three female interns sitting on the bench across from him. "Be careful. Once you get involved with the Jesuits, you'll always stay involved" ..whoops...
...
later he asked me if Romero House had "ruined me for life" like the Jesuit Volunteers say that JVS does for their life. I told him I really didn't like that term at all. He explained that I was "ruined" from ever enjoying dominant culture, or capitalism, or all these other things. I told him I still didn't like that term.
I prefer ideas of a more infinite Yes. Being open to a greater existence, a world of unseen possibilities, etc, etc.
...
Being a "Ruined" person implies that I could never go back even if I wanted to. It alludes to "ruined women" who, having lost their virginity, could never be accepted in proper society again. It implies that I have no choice in the matter. Me, having had one singular experience, would be automatically rejected by society. The experience entered me, and I having experienced it, am ruined. No turning back, and I have not influenced anyone or anything. I have been altered, and must live with the consequences. He assumes that before we enter into these year-or-two-long experiences we were pure and naive, maybe even innocent.
I viscerally am disgusted by that idea.
...
I, being Presbyterian (apparently), prefer the idea that I have been walking this road since before I was born. That I am who I am, and I will be who I was meant to be, and this is but one experience in a long string of experiences. I am richer for it, I am stronger for it, I am wiser for it.
I am not ruined because of it.
...
After I leave here, I will continue to stretch and grow, and think about things. I will continue to live alongside people, to address issues of poverty and injustice. I will continue to read, to question authority, to pray and to sing (badly but happily). I will love children, I will fight for families. I will keep learning to budget. I will read the news. I will laugh. I will go shopping (sometimes even at Wal-Mart, when I'm really desperate and the event is about to start). I will make things from scratch, and I will repair things that break. I will buy plastic and cheap furniture when I move into a new apartment. I will garden, and I will buy mangoes imported from across the world. I will drink tea and talk dirty with women from across the globe. I will call my friends, and be glad to hear their voice on my coltan-dependent fancy cell phone. I will be angry at the news sometimes, and I will take full advantage of my US citizenship to travel anywhere in the world (almost).
...
The world is not black and white. I am neither ruined nor pure. I reserve the right to interact with the world as myself, outside of categories or assumptions. I have been me for many years before this one. I will continue to be this person for many years to come.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Let Me Pick You A Story From Our Tree
He knows my name! my friend told me while sitting in the common room.
He can say it! He told me, it means Gift in his language.
He knows my name!
And my name too! my other friend-neighbor told me
but he doesn't know what it means... but it is from his language too.
It is a name in his country.
because our country had many missionaries from Finland.
this is how we learned about God.
Many people, when they meet me, they cannot say my name, because of the j
even you, you couldn't remember our names when you met us
but he, he knows how to say our names. he knows our names.
* * *
"I was talking to my boyfriend about the pinatas. He asked if you had gone to teacher's college or something, because you were really good. I said no. It was just you."
* * *
like most days, I woke up exhausted, but I got out of bed nevertheless to go clean up from the street party. Worked a few hours, then crashed at Starbucks a few hours. A former resident had been in the ER yesterday ('ey! I saw that one who lives in my house now in the hospital, but he didn't see me), and I took her son home last night and checked in on her. Today I promised to cook her dinner, but I was dreading it all day.
I left an hour late, but picked up some chicken, ice cream and perogies from the store on the way. I cooked her some chicken rice soup (that turned into chicken rice after I served it... hmmm) and we watched two movies. I taught her son how to cook perogies (for lunch this week), and eventually left around 10pm in the best mood I've been in for a while. Life is so good.
then my journey home reminded me of why Canada is great.
As I left her rent-geared-to-income apartment complex I walked through a poorer part of downtown, unnoticed by anyone. No catcalls, no asking for change, no dirty or suspicious glances. Just people minding their own business on their own stoops or going somewhere of their own.
When I got to the subway station, I read the handwritten sign at the teller's booth. "Agent gone. Please drop your payment in the box and continue through the turnstile"
So I dropped 2.50 in the box and walked through the turnstile,
hopped on my prompt subway, transferred quickly
and was home in 20 minutes.
(and when I got off the subway at Dundas West, I realized maybe I have been in Canada too long. I did the right thing, and paid the fare even when no one was watching. Whats worse, I didn't even notice that until I had gotten home....)
He can say it! He told me, it means Gift in his language.
He knows my name!
And my name too! my other friend-neighbor told me
but he doesn't know what it means... but it is from his language too.
It is a name in his country.
because our country had many missionaries from Finland.
this is how we learned about God.
Many people, when they meet me, they cannot say my name, because of the j
even you, you couldn't remember our names when you met us
but he, he knows how to say our names. he knows our names.
* * *
"I was talking to my boyfriend about the pinatas. He asked if you had gone to teacher's college or something, because you were really good. I said no. It was just you."
* * *
like most days, I woke up exhausted, but I got out of bed nevertheless to go clean up from the street party. Worked a few hours, then crashed at Starbucks a few hours. A former resident had been in the ER yesterday ('ey! I saw that one who lives in my house now in the hospital, but he didn't see me), and I took her son home last night and checked in on her. Today I promised to cook her dinner, but I was dreading it all day.
I left an hour late, but picked up some chicken, ice cream and perogies from the store on the way. I cooked her some chicken rice soup (that turned into chicken rice after I served it... hmmm) and we watched two movies. I taught her son how to cook perogies (for lunch this week), and eventually left around 10pm in the best mood I've been in for a while. Life is so good.
then my journey home reminded me of why Canada is great.
As I left her rent-geared-to-income apartment complex I walked through a poorer part of downtown, unnoticed by anyone. No catcalls, no asking for change, no dirty or suspicious glances. Just people minding their own business on their own stoops or going somewhere of their own.
When I got to the subway station, I read the handwritten sign at the teller's booth. "Agent gone. Please drop your payment in the box and continue through the turnstile"
So I dropped 2.50 in the box and walked through the turnstile,
hopped on my prompt subway, transferred quickly
and was home in 20 minutes.
(and when I got off the subway at Dundas West, I realized maybe I have been in Canada too long. I did the right thing, and paid the fare even when no one was watching. Whats worse, I didn't even notice that until I had gotten home....)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Listening to Sigur Ros, imagining feeling carefree some day...
Jouni and I found an amazing Vietnamese restaurant in Chinatown the other day. I ordered coconut juice and almost cried when they brought me the glass. I had the best Bun (possibly ever? crazy. I know). Jouni said "I think maybe you need to go back to Fresno"
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