is this what you meant? hands deep in your pockets, shoulders drawn forward, like you were holding too tight onto enough spare change to buy two-flavor ice cream swirl insides? i couldn't tell. can't tell. will never get a chance to tell. in the end, no one said "don't go." no one stood on a chair and asked the ceiling fan why girls have arms like pine trees, when so much changes anyway? why boys who tell tumbling stories with all the rushing force of the river's current in april are still always evaporating? it's why i took so many pictures that spring. it's why i never learned how to do a cartwheel. it's why i left my snow boots in the basement. so i would have a reason to come back eventually, if all my other reasons had moved on. that summer, the nights were too bright to hide all my blushing. instead of holding on, you let me go in a parking lot in the middle of the day. i tripped on a pothole walking back to my mom's honda, but it wasn't enough to stop me.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Saturday, August 30, 2014
now there is a new kitchen
the straps of my tanktop don't stay up for long.
there is too much pointing to do.
my shoulders are in constant use
(but not because you are here,
telling stories loudly;
reaching out for emphasis).
i save up my moments for emails,
but it doesn't come through the same
when there are no interruptions.
the light makes all the edges blurry anyway.
i don't want to out-grow this.
i want the mud on my boots to last forever,
even if i feel out-of-place sometimes.
i haven't figured out yet if i should measure time
in teaspoons or teapots.
either way, i'll spill it all over the floor,
and memories will get mopped up like milk.
eventually, new sandpaper will smooth me out,
and all my corners will fit nicely.
someone else will sit across the table.
when i leave, i won't push the chair back in.
there is too much pointing to do.
my shoulders are in constant use
(but not because you are here,
telling stories loudly;
reaching out for emphasis).
i save up my moments for emails,
but it doesn't come through the same
when there are no interruptions.
the light makes all the edges blurry anyway.
i don't want to out-grow this.
i want the mud on my boots to last forever,
even if i feel out-of-place sometimes.
i haven't figured out yet if i should measure time
in teaspoons or teapots.
either way, i'll spill it all over the floor,
and memories will get mopped up like milk.
eventually, new sandpaper will smooth me out,
and all my corners will fit nicely.
someone else will sit across the table.
when i leave, i won't push the chair back in.
Friday, August 22, 2014
recycled cardboard
i wonder sometimes,
if i hold a sign up reading "home,"
scrawled on the torn off side of
the box your brother's speakers came in,
while standing on someone else's roadside--
boots unlaced,
hair undone,
insides untied--
where i'll end up these days?
it's not my intention anymore,
to figure out where hitchhikers will take me.
just to find home somewhere other than your kitchen table,
or on the extra bicycle your parents got, so visitors could join them on the bike trail at a moment's notice.
or in the extra toothbrush you kept around, or in knowing my favorite tea was always in your cabinet.
i have nightmares sometimes,
that i won't recognize anywhere.
someone's aunt will ask,
"sugar, what have you been up to these days?"
and i will pull my sweatshirt zipper up and down,
hoping that the length of my hair won't give anything away.
you know,
just
here
and there,
this and
that,
i guess.
if i hold a sign up reading "home,"
scrawled on the torn off side of
the box your brother's speakers came in,
while standing on someone else's roadside--
boots unlaced,
hair undone,
insides untied--
where i'll end up these days?
it's not my intention anymore,
to figure out where hitchhikers will take me.
just to find home somewhere other than your kitchen table,
or on the extra bicycle your parents got, so visitors could join them on the bike trail at a moment's notice.
or in the extra toothbrush you kept around, or in knowing my favorite tea was always in your cabinet.
i have nightmares sometimes,
that i won't recognize anywhere.
someone's aunt will ask,
"sugar, what have you been up to these days?"
and i will pull my sweatshirt zipper up and down,
hoping that the length of my hair won't give anything away.
you know,
just
here
and there,
this and
that,
i guess.
how to leave
1.
do not start by estimating damages,
contemplating insurance,
wrapping your edges in old newspaper.
there will be enough time
to put furniture polish on your new scratches later.
the moving company promises nothing will break beyond repair.
2.
hold your breath,
and fold up your sweaters.
take off your shoes,
and kiss a boy who won't wait.
who will unbraid the promises in your hair,
and hold your hand until one of you goes.
3.
melt ice cubes on your skin to remind yourself
that once you were the only thing around above freezing.
4.
open your arms
as easily as you opened your passport
when the agent at border control
asked why you were here
at 7 a.m., after thousands of miles,
you adjusted the hem of your last clean shirt
and told the truth:
it was time.
do not start by estimating damages,
contemplating insurance,
wrapping your edges in old newspaper.
there will be enough time
to put furniture polish on your new scratches later.
the moving company promises nothing will break beyond repair.
2.
hold your breath,
and fold up your sweaters.
take off your shoes,
and kiss a boy who won't wait.
who will unbraid the promises in your hair,
and hold your hand until one of you goes.
3.
melt ice cubes on your skin to remind yourself
that once you were the only thing around above freezing.
4.
open your arms
as easily as you opened your passport
when the agent at border control
asked why you were here
at 7 a.m., after thousands of miles,
you adjusted the hem of your last clean shirt
and told the truth:
it was time.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Some things about Haifa
I've been in Haifa for two weeks, which probably deserves some sort of recognition.
Here I am: able to navigate successfully from point A to point B regularly; starting to get good at calculating the exchange rate ($1 = 3 shekels) without thinking too much; sweating more than I've ever sweated before and unable to explain my feelings in Celsius.
There's bigger selection of fruit than I'm used to, but strangers don't smile as much. I've never lived this close to an ocean you can swim in.
I forgot about living in the middle of an alphabet you can't read. Hebrew looks like upside-down music notes, and I can never remember what my receipts are for.
It didn't hit me that I was moving until I made it all the way here, standing in my new room, unpacking all my dresses. And then suddenly it did. Everything I hadn't been thinking about for nine months, all at once.
I haven't been able to figure out which buttons are doorbells and which ones are light switches in the stairwell of my building. I kept ding-dong ditching the neighbors for a while, but now I just feel my way up in the dark.
Two weeks isn't enough to figure anything out. But I know a few things. That there's an Arab bakery a few minutes walk from where I live that's open on Shabat. That "toda" means "thank you" and "rega" means "wait" (and the accompanying hand motions). Which staircases will take me home. The difference between doorbells and light switches will come with time.
I've already used up two bus cards, so I'm well on my way to settling in.
Some things remind me of Amman (the hills everyone calls mountains, the sandstone buildings, the cucumbers stacked in crates outside corner stores), and some things remind me of other places.
I think that's what happens when you move around a lot--wherever you are ends up being an amalgamation of all your previous homes.
Here I am: able to navigate successfully from point A to point B regularly; starting to get good at calculating the exchange rate ($1 = 3 shekels) without thinking too much; sweating more than I've ever sweated before and unable to explain my feelings in Celsius.
There's bigger selection of fruit than I'm used to, but strangers don't smile as much. I've never lived this close to an ocean you can swim in.
I forgot about living in the middle of an alphabet you can't read. Hebrew looks like upside-down music notes, and I can never remember what my receipts are for.
It didn't hit me that I was moving until I made it all the way here, standing in my new room, unpacking all my dresses. And then suddenly it did. Everything I hadn't been thinking about for nine months, all at once.
I haven't been able to figure out which buttons are doorbells and which ones are light switches in the stairwell of my building. I kept ding-dong ditching the neighbors for a while, but now I just feel my way up in the dark.
Two weeks isn't enough to figure anything out. But I know a few things. That there's an Arab bakery a few minutes walk from where I live that's open on Shabat. That "toda" means "thank you" and "rega" means "wait" (and the accompanying hand motions). Which staircases will take me home. The difference between doorbells and light switches will come with time.
I've already used up two bus cards, so I'm well on my way to settling in.
Some things remind me of Amman (the hills everyone calls mountains, the sandstone buildings, the cucumbers stacked in crates outside corner stores), and some things remind me of other places.
I think that's what happens when you move around a lot--wherever you are ends up being an amalgamation of all your previous homes.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
postage stamp
when did i become a postage stamp?
when did i become one inch tall and marked by home,
so no matter how far i go, everyone will always know these legs are far more used to wading through snow than waiting on subway platforms.
when did i leave my neatly organized page of 35 other stamps, all of us uniform in the conviction that One Day We Will Go Somewhere?
here’s the thing about leaving:
you find out exactly where your edges are,
but first you have to peel yourself away,
and it’s too much, sometimes, to figure out everything that you’re not.
when did i become one inch tall and marked by home,
so no matter how far i go, everyone will always know these legs are far more used to wading through snow than waiting on subway platforms.
when did i leave my neatly organized page of 35 other stamps, all of us uniform in the conviction that One Day We Will Go Somewhere?
here’s the thing about leaving:
you find out exactly where your edges are,
but first you have to peel yourself away,
and it’s too much, sometimes, to figure out everything that you’re not.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Blue hair and Vespas
A few days ago, mom told me she was heading to Wal-Mart. "Need anything?" she asked. "Yeah, blue hair dye!" I told her, because I've been meaning to fix my hair for a while. Later, I came home and found a box of Manic Panic on my bed. Today, she helped me pull out all the faded streaks and clip them back. The hair dye smelled kind of like blueberries and harsh chemicals, and now our bathtub is tinted slightly blue.
"BABE WANT TO GO LOOK AT THE VESPA TONIGHT?" Valerie texted me earlier this evening, post re-dye-blue-streaks operation. She's been casually browsing Craigslist for scooters and motorcycles for years, but lately a lot of our friends have been getting their motorcycle licenses and exuberantly tweeting about it, so I think it's making the motorcycle-fever worse.
We went and talked to the woman from Craigslist, who was the mother of someone who went on a laser tag date with one of our roommates this winter and then sent some confusing texts. His mother seemed nice though. And the Vespa is great. It's adorable and yellow and sort of perfect in it's impracticality, and Valerie spent the drive home rattling off Vespa facts she'd learned from the Internet the night before.
"I should have just spent the summer in Fairbanks," I told Valerie after our millionth conversation about how average Anchorage is. "I think you'd just be heartbroken when you left though," she replied. "I'm heartbroken now!" I said, with characteristic dramatics. "It's inevitable, and I might as well have enjoyed the last part of my summer in Alaska." "Yeah, but transition times are necessary," she responded with sage wisdom. "You'd either have one in Haifa, or right now in Anchorage, so it might as well be right now."
It's true in a way. Hopefully this purgatory means I won't spend several weeks wallowing in Mediterranean August humidity. Regardless, we're going to Fairbanks this weekend, and I'm beyond excited.
"BABE WANT TO GO LOOK AT THE VESPA TONIGHT?" Valerie texted me earlier this evening, post re-dye-blue-streaks operation. She's been casually browsing Craigslist for scooters and motorcycles for years, but lately a lot of our friends have been getting their motorcycle licenses and exuberantly tweeting about it, so I think it's making the motorcycle-fever worse.
We went and talked to the woman from Craigslist, who was the mother of someone who went on a laser tag date with one of our roommates this winter and then sent some confusing texts. His mother seemed nice though. And the Vespa is great. It's adorable and yellow and sort of perfect in it's impracticality, and Valerie spent the drive home rattling off Vespa facts she'd learned from the Internet the night before.
"I should have just spent the summer in Fairbanks," I told Valerie after our millionth conversation about how average Anchorage is. "I think you'd just be heartbroken when you left though," she replied. "I'm heartbroken now!" I said, with characteristic dramatics. "It's inevitable, and I might as well have enjoyed the last part of my summer in Alaska." "Yeah, but transition times are necessary," she responded with sage wisdom. "You'd either have one in Haifa, or right now in Anchorage, so it might as well be right now."
It's true in a way. Hopefully this purgatory means I won't spend several weeks wallowing in Mediterranean August humidity. Regardless, we're going to Fairbanks this weekend, and I'm beyond excited.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Home, not for long
I woke up at 7:45 this morning as my best friend stepped over my sleeping bag to unzip the tent we set up in my parents' backyard last night. "Sorry," she mouthed, but in a way that said, I'm not really sorry about waking you up, you sucker, you convinced me to camp in your parents yard in the rain and now I have to go to work.
I haven't spent a summer without a job in years, and I guess this is what it's like.
I am home: finally, improbably, impermanently. I got back from everywhere the night before last. I have a severely peeling sunburn and no clean socks, but it is good to be back in Alaska, albeit the wrong part. Alaska Airlines just emailed me with the subject, "ELIKA we're ready to go to Fairbanks!" Me too, me too, me too.
Today, when I went to attempt to return something at REI I bought 6 months ago (successful, btw), the woman at the cashier complimented me on my leggings. Then she gave me the lady-outfit-once-over and said, "man, you've got a lot of patterns going on! I love it!" So anyway, I have a new friend and one less expensive sporting good store item, which is something we should all aspire to anyway.
"Do you have, like, a list?" my brother asked me a few weeks ago, after he had been telling me about the Anchorage bucket list he and his friends have to finish before they all leave for college. "Yeah, I need to get a tetanus shot, and close my bank account, and make a dentist appointment, and I want to go to Fairbanks once or twice, and--" "No, like a real list?" "Not really."
For now, it's just nice to be home. Home being a place where I can wear a coat in June and camp out with my best friends at night.
I haven't spent a summer without a job in years, and I guess this is what it's like.
I am home: finally, improbably, impermanently. I got back from everywhere the night before last. I have a severely peeling sunburn and no clean socks, but it is good to be back in Alaska, albeit the wrong part. Alaska Airlines just emailed me with the subject, "ELIKA we're ready to go to Fairbanks!" Me too, me too, me too.
Today, when I went to attempt to return something at REI I bought 6 months ago (successful, btw), the woman at the cashier complimented me on my leggings. Then she gave me the lady-outfit-once-over and said, "man, you've got a lot of patterns going on! I love it!" So anyway, I have a new friend and one less expensive sporting good store item, which is something we should all aspire to anyway.
"Do you have, like, a list?" my brother asked me a few weeks ago, after he had been telling me about the Anchorage bucket list he and his friends have to finish before they all leave for college. "Yeah, I need to get a tetanus shot, and close my bank account, and make a dentist appointment, and I want to go to Fairbanks once or twice, and--" "No, like a real list?" "Not really."
For now, it's just nice to be home. Home being a place where I can wear a coat in June and camp out with my best friends at night.
Monday, May 5, 2014
It's always been about the weather
Today is my last day of classes ever. And it's flurrying outside. This all feels like poetic justice, especially now that the leaves are out (finally) and I am nearly out (finally), and winter is having a hard time letting go. That's a metaphor, right?
There's a lot to do this week, obviously. And I haven't been able to bring myself to get started on any of it--packing, rewriting, studying for tests that wont matter in 4 days. Instead, I spent several hours with the newspaper staff yesterday, cracking journalism jokes and brainstorming ways to pull the last issue together. One of the best things I've ever reported and written is running in this issue.
I went to Portland this weekend.* Thinking back on it now, it seems like a different person who almost went to college there. It was wholesomely satisfying to come full circle like that, especially because the weather was much better at home. And it's always been about the goddamn weather.
*For the region 10 Society of Professional Journalists conference. I won an award--1st place feature photography in the region for these pictures.
There's a lot to do this week, obviously. And I haven't been able to bring myself to get started on any of it--packing, rewriting, studying for tests that wont matter in 4 days. Instead, I spent several hours with the newspaper staff yesterday, cracking journalism jokes and brainstorming ways to pull the last issue together. One of the best things I've ever reported and written is running in this issue.
I went to Portland this weekend.* Thinking back on it now, it seems like a different person who almost went to college there. It was wholesomely satisfying to come full circle like that, especially because the weather was much better at home. And it's always been about the goddamn weather.
*For the region 10 Society of Professional Journalists conference. I won an award--1st place feature photography in the region for these pictures.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
A brush with the law
Valerie is sitting outside on the hammock right now, and I am inside pouring my lifeless soul into a paper about Margaret Thatcher, and we are occasionally calling back and forth to each other through the open window over the excellent bluegrass Pandora station I have pulled up right now.
Me: "An FBI agent is coming to our apartment right now."
Valerie: "Why?"
Me: "Because [one of our friends] is getting government security clearance and he put me down as a reference. So someone just called, and there is an FBI agent heading over to interview me."
Valerie: "Should I put on pants?"
Me: "You're probably ok."
Valerie: "Want to practice?"
Me: "Being interviewed by an FBI agent?"
Valerie: "Yeah."
Me: "Ok."
Valerie: "Hi, I'm an FBI agent."
Me: "Hi, I'm Elika."
Valerie: "Is that your real name?"
Me: "Yes."
Valerie: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yes."
Valerie: "I don't know what else he's going to ask."
Me: "Me either."
Me: "An FBI agent is coming to our apartment right now."
Valerie: "Why?"
Me: "Because [one of our friends] is getting government security clearance and he put me down as a reference. So someone just called, and there is an FBI agent heading over to interview me."
Valerie: "Should I put on pants?"
Me: "You're probably ok."
Valerie: "Want to practice?"
Me: "Being interviewed by an FBI agent?"
Valerie: "Yeah."
Me: "Ok."
Valerie: "Hi, I'm an FBI agent."
Me: "Hi, I'm Elika."
Valerie: "Is that your real name?"
Me: "Yes."
Valerie: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yes."
Valerie: "I don't know what else he's going to ask."
Me: "Me either."
Monday, April 21, 2014
Pictures of breakup season
Spring is here in full force. We've melted through most of the snow (even the April snowstorm), and I've worn sandals almost every day for the past week. I've been trying to compile a series of breakup season photos because grey snow and mud are the best. Here are a few favorites:
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Why do we say bittersweet when we just mean bitter
Sorry I'm turning into the kind of blogger that barely blogs anymore and then has apology posts about not writing. I used to be good at sorting through my thoughts by forming them into complete sentences, but lately I've just been getting better at living with the jumble in my head.
I'm three weeks from moving away from yet another place that's now my home. You'd think that someone who has moved so many goddamn times in her life would be better at leaving, but really I'm just good at packing efficiently and not thinking too hard. So I've stopped writing, and instead, I go on runs or bake or practice my oboe. It's sort of like I'm 17 again, except I turn 22 soon.
So here's what I'm thinking: I started liking Fairbanks the way most romantic comedy heroines usually do-- with a fierce determination not to. When you move around a lot, you try to see everything through the cold, calculating eyes of someone who's going to have to show up somewhere else with enough of a real smile to make new friends soon. It's one thing to miss brief friendships, but it's altogether another thing to expend emotions missing cities and towns.
Anyway, here we are at the end of the movie, and everyone saw this grand, meaningful run-through-the-airport love declaration coming but me.
Something about Fairbanks just clicks with me. Maybe it's the deep aversion to superficiality, or the small town community that manages to live and let live, or--duh--how beautiful it all is. But it's something, and I'm going to be sorry to leave it all behind.
I'm three weeks from moving away from yet another place that's now my home. You'd think that someone who has moved so many goddamn times in her life would be better at leaving, but really I'm just good at packing efficiently and not thinking too hard. So I've stopped writing, and instead, I go on runs or bake or practice my oboe. It's sort of like I'm 17 again, except I turn 22 soon.
So here's what I'm thinking: I started liking Fairbanks the way most romantic comedy heroines usually do-- with a fierce determination not to. When you move around a lot, you try to see everything through the cold, calculating eyes of someone who's going to have to show up somewhere else with enough of a real smile to make new friends soon. It's one thing to miss brief friendships, but it's altogether another thing to expend emotions missing cities and towns.
Anyway, here we are at the end of the movie, and everyone saw this grand, meaningful run-through-the-airport love declaration coming but me.
Something about Fairbanks just clicks with me. Maybe it's the deep aversion to superficiality, or the small town community that manages to live and let live, or--duh--how beautiful it all is. But it's something, and I'm going to be sorry to leave it all behind.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
vitals
when she takes the thermometer
it reads: 97.1.
slightly colder than average,
but still in a window that's normal.
it reads: 97.1.
slightly colder than average,
but still in a window that's normal.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
break up season
i am your coat cast aside.
bare you arms to the sun.
can you feel gravel through
the soles of your boots?
this is what it feels like
to lose me.
years ago, we stood on silty riverbanks.
and i leaned close enough
to read the ink on your arms.
they felt like bathroom stall promises.
they always made me curious.
i confess:
imleavingimleavingimleaving.
it's april, and dead grass and i
are uncovering our souls,
and you have all the time and sunshine
in the world.
bare you arms to the sun.
can you feel gravel through
the soles of your boots?
this is what it feels like
to lose me.
years ago, we stood on silty riverbanks.
and i leaned close enough
to read the ink on your arms.
they felt like bathroom stall promises.
they always made me curious.
i confess:
imleavingimleavingimleaving.
it's april, and dead grass and i
are uncovering our souls,
and you have all the time and sunshine
in the world.
Friday, April 4, 2014
love letter
your arms could be birch trees,
they are covered in so many scratches.
usually you are too tall for me,
we never see eye to eye.
and your branches are
not strong enough to bear my weight.
you live in the cold,
and it's hard to love you.
but it's spring now--
when the birch sap runs--
and i am here with my spile.
they are covered in so many scratches.
usually you are too tall for me,
we never see eye to eye.
and your branches are
not strong enough to bear my weight.
you live in the cold,
and it's hard to love you.
but it's spring now--
when the birch sap runs--
and i am here with my spile.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
rules
1.
cut off all your hair at least once.
because everything moves too fast to get attached
and vanity is just a prop to hide behind.
2.
try not to fall in love with the first boy
who’s poetry you accidentally find when he’s not looking.
or the first boy who plays john mayer on his guitar,
whose e string has been restrung more times than you’ve been kissed.
3.
go on more adventures.
there are no boys or hair to weigh you down.
4.
jump in a lake fed by glaciers, one that’s barely 33 degrees.
just to know that you can handle the cold.
one day, someone will accuse you of having a frozen heart,
and it’s good preparation to know what it is really like to have frozen insides.
5.
lie on your side and fill all the negative space your curves make
with all the broken promises you’ve been told,
and mix them with salt water from the nearest coast
you were never too sweet, you were never there to be liked--
you were there to grow sturdy and tall;
never mind the whisper of forrest fires.
cut off all your hair at least once.
because everything moves too fast to get attached
and vanity is just a prop to hide behind.
2.
try not to fall in love with the first boy
who’s poetry you accidentally find when he’s not looking.
or the first boy who plays john mayer on his guitar,
whose e string has been restrung more times than you’ve been kissed.
3.
go on more adventures.
there are no boys or hair to weigh you down.
4.
jump in a lake fed by glaciers, one that’s barely 33 degrees.
just to know that you can handle the cold.
one day, someone will accuse you of having a frozen heart,
and it’s good preparation to know what it is really like to have frozen insides.
5.
lie on your side and fill all the negative space your curves make
with all the broken promises you’ve been told,
and mix them with salt water from the nearest coast
you were never too sweet, you were never there to be liked--
you were there to grow sturdy and tall;
never mind the whisper of forrest fires.
thanks
thanks for being one of too many voices
talking at once, sharing ideas like water drops,
mixing melodies--shattering silence.
thanks for pink walls/children's books/
rearranged furniture/familiarity etched
in 4 years of gradual change.
thanks for midnight texts.
for midnight snacks.
for midnight visits, midnight laughs, midnight walks,
a midnight friendship.
talking at once, sharing ideas like water drops,
mixing melodies--shattering silence.
thanks for pink walls/children's books/
rearranged furniture/familiarity etched
in 4 years of gradual change.
thanks for midnight texts.
for midnight snacks.
for midnight visits, midnight laughs, midnight walks,
a midnight friendship.
if all else fails
one day, i want my limbs to evaporate
into ocean air. into the kind of atmosphere
filled with so much humidity that
everyone feels like they're 15 pounds
heavier when they step outside,
like every book they meant to read
is a library on their shoulders.
i will grow wings and teach myself to
fly faster than hummingbirds, and my
hair will get tangled up clouds
when i visit rain that hasn't fallen yet.
one day, i will rely only on
old maps to get me to places
where i will find love and lunch
all on one street corner.
one day, i will learn to cut hair,
and practice on boys who stopped caring
in 10th grade. i will build cities from
secrets they tell me, i will wear only
clothes i've found in attics and backyards.
i will get lost at sea,
i will write poetry on my thighs,
i will tell stories with the gusto
of 10,000 sincere 8-year-olds asking
their mothers if they can stay out
past 9 p.m. playing King of the Hill in July,
and when i reach the end of the story,
i will start all over again
because no one ever gets the point
the first time around.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
blue hole
remember rope swings?
you always held on too long,
and ended up back where you started.
never too scared to leap,
but not really sure where to go.
"now," we'd yell, "jump now!"
but you didn't need advice
from skinny kids with popsicle hands,
who couldn't come up with
anything better to carve into
the neighbor's oak tree
than our initials.
it's been a while,
and now you live somewhere else,
but somewhere in between,
still holding on to too many different things.
you always held on too long,
and ended up back where you started.
never too scared to leap,
but not really sure where to go.
"now," we'd yell, "jump now!"
but you didn't need advice
from skinny kids with popsicle hands,
who couldn't come up with
anything better to carve into
the neighbor's oak tree
than our initials.
it's been a while,
and now you live somewhere else,
but somewhere in between,
still holding on to too many different things.
Monday, March 31, 2014
amicable breakup
there is red paint on my knees,
i crawled in it the last time that
someone told to "express myself."
like this was an 8th grade art class.
like an empty piece of paper
could hold all of the things that i wanted to say.
instead i squeezed a tube of red acrylic paint
onto the floor of your cabin, and used
one of your three spoons to make angry designs,
like spirals could hold all my feelings.
red, i figured, for love
and war
and strawberries
and the blood bank
and your shoe laces.
after you kicked me out
("no matter what you feel, you cannot paint on my floor")
i made a list of places i wanted to move.
(your backyard,
zanzibar,
cincinnati,
the biography section of the library.)
and essentials to pack in my backpack.
(a toothbrush,
two pairs of socks,
a set of watercolors,
flares just in case,
a pen.)
my mom always made me write a note if i went anywhere,
so this is my note, to tell you i'm leaving.
i don't think i'm ever coming back.
i crawled in it the last time that
someone told to "express myself."
like this was an 8th grade art class.
like an empty piece of paper
could hold all of the things that i wanted to say.
instead i squeezed a tube of red acrylic paint
onto the floor of your cabin, and used
one of your three spoons to make angry designs,
like spirals could hold all my feelings.
red, i figured, for love
and war
and strawberries
and the blood bank
and your shoe laces.
after you kicked me out
("no matter what you feel, you cannot paint on my floor")
i made a list of places i wanted to move.
(your backyard,
zanzibar,
cincinnati,
the biography section of the library.)
and essentials to pack in my backpack.
(a toothbrush,
two pairs of socks,
a set of watercolors,
flares just in case,
a pen.)
my mom always made me write a note if i went anywhere,
so this is my note, to tell you i'm leaving.
i don't think i'm ever coming back.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Happy Naw-Ruz!
It's a new year, with all of the familiarity of last year's snow still sitting heavy on the ground.
At least the sun sticks around for longer. And I don't need to wear my big pink poofy coat anymore. I think my days as fluorescent marshmellow are behind me, but spring is a finicky lady at this latitude so I'm never quite sure.
Tonight is the last night of my last spring break of college. I made chili to celebrate with ground beef Valerie's parents vaccuum-packed and mailed to her when she kept getting low hematocrit scores at the bloodbank.
In honor of spring cleaning, I cleared out a trash bag's worth of clothing that I've accumulated from various dump trips over the last year. I also spent several hours meticulously reading through banjolele user reviews on Amazon.
"You're going to show up in Haifa with a backpack full of dump clothes and an orchestra of weird stringed instruments," Valerie remarked.
Now I want a mandolin too.
My brother and I are both graduating this spring, him from high school and me from college, so we're planning one of those rites-of-passage backpacking trips right now. You know, the kind where you fill the small pockets on your backpack with earrings from artisan markets and eat ice cream from corner stores?
I keep googling imaging cities in warm climates on the coast, knowing full well that this is it for winter and I for a few years. I want to be less anxious about seeing the snow melt, but patience is not a virtue I'm very good at during breakup season.
At least the sun sticks around for longer. And I don't need to wear my big pink poofy coat anymore. I think my days as fluorescent marshmellow are behind me, but spring is a finicky lady at this latitude so I'm never quite sure.
Tonight is the last night of my last spring break of college. I made chili to celebrate with ground beef Valerie's parents vaccuum-packed and mailed to her when she kept getting low hematocrit scores at the bloodbank.
In honor of spring cleaning, I cleared out a trash bag's worth of clothing that I've accumulated from various dump trips over the last year. I also spent several hours meticulously reading through banjolele user reviews on Amazon.
"You're going to show up in Haifa with a backpack full of dump clothes and an orchestra of weird stringed instruments," Valerie remarked.
Now I want a mandolin too.
My brother and I are both graduating this spring, him from high school and me from college, so we're planning one of those rites-of-passage backpacking trips right now. You know, the kind where you fill the small pockets on your backpack with earrings from artisan markets and eat ice cream from corner stores?
I keep googling imaging cities in warm climates on the coast, knowing full well that this is it for winter and I for a few years. I want to be less anxious about seeing the snow melt, but patience is not a virtue I'm very good at during breakup season.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Lately,
Even though I was in a small car with three other people for most of my winter break, I still managed to get left alone long enough to cut off about five inches of hair one afternoon in the bathroom.
The thing about staring yourself in the mirror and saying "whatever, hair grows back" and shrugging indifferently is that the growing back is agonizing (as a metaphor for things in life that take patience and--no implied meaning--as several months of bad hair days).
I'm starting to think there's a correlation between girls who have the patience to grow their hair out and girls who have the patience to find and keep boyfriends.
///
I'm taking oboe lessons again, because I needed a few more credits this semester and because I realized recently that I wasted three and a half years being melodramatic about playing music and it was time to suck it up and move on with life.
It's fun because Candy bestows such gems during our time together as "I've noticed all these boys talk to you. You could have a million boyfriends" and "Don't be nervous. No one knows who you are" and "Is that from Value Village? You could be a Value Village model."
But it's also fun because, oh yeah, I love this. I forgot that.
///
It's the Baha'i fast again. The time of year between March 2-20 where Baha'is don't eat or drink between sunrise and sunset. Tomorrow is day 5 out of 19.
Usually I look forward to this time of year. I like challenging myself and figuring out what I'm capable of, whether it's skipping lunch or moving a million miles away or managing a newspaper for a year or feigning indifference at my most recent self-imposed haircut.
And I like the reminder that we're more than our material connection to this world.
But this year it feels different. Like I'm just going through the motions.
///
It snowed today. Soft, small Fairbanks flakes that have been piling up outside since I got out of bed this morning. The kind of snow that just happens. The kind that makes me exasperated with and appreciative of winter all at once.
I don't know at what point I started to like Fairbanks so much. It just started, soft and small, piling up slowly, until at some point I realized I was wading through three inches of affection and it was sticking to my boots and melting onto the hem of my jeans, staying damp long after I shook it off.
The thing about staring yourself in the mirror and saying "whatever, hair grows back" and shrugging indifferently is that the growing back is agonizing (as a metaphor for things in life that take patience and--no implied meaning--as several months of bad hair days).
I'm starting to think there's a correlation between girls who have the patience to grow their hair out and girls who have the patience to find and keep boyfriends.
///
I'm taking oboe lessons again, because I needed a few more credits this semester and because I realized recently that I wasted three and a half years being melodramatic about playing music and it was time to suck it up and move on with life.
It's fun because Candy bestows such gems during our time together as "I've noticed all these boys talk to you. You could have a million boyfriends" and "Don't be nervous. No one knows who you are" and "Is that from Value Village? You could be a Value Village model."
But it's also fun because, oh yeah, I love this. I forgot that.
///
It's the Baha'i fast again. The time of year between March 2-20 where Baha'is don't eat or drink between sunrise and sunset. Tomorrow is day 5 out of 19.
Usually I look forward to this time of year. I like challenging myself and figuring out what I'm capable of, whether it's skipping lunch or moving a million miles away or managing a newspaper for a year or feigning indifference at my most recent self-imposed haircut.
And I like the reminder that we're more than our material connection to this world.
But this year it feels different. Like I'm just going through the motions.
///
It snowed today. Soft, small Fairbanks flakes that have been piling up outside since I got out of bed this morning. The kind of snow that just happens. The kind that makes me exasperated with and appreciative of winter all at once.
I don't know at what point I started to like Fairbanks so much. It just started, soft and small, piling up slowly, until at some point I realized I was wading through three inches of affection and it was sticking to my boots and melting onto the hem of my jeans, staying damp long after I shook it off.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Welcome to the future
On Saturday, Valerie took an impromptu roadtrip to Canada to help out a friend who's boyfriend got into an accident near Beaver Creek. And Celie was at her friend's birthday party. And Denali is always gone anyway. And it was the first time I've been alone for any significant amount of time in... months? years? ever?
I watched the Olympics until I got tired of watching luge run after luge run after luge run, and then I put on a playlist consisting of every Shins song I own, the new Ingrid Michaelson single, and some music I'm trying to get into to make other people think I'm cool because I haven't really matured beyond 11th grade. And by 9:30 p.m., I had washed the dishes, folded my laundry, and boredom was oozing out of my pores.
About four hours into my evening alone, Valerie texted me to let me know where they were and I told her that I my innards were liquifying from disuse because what is the purpose of life/internal organs if you don't have anyone to hang out with, and she responded, "Welcome to the future."
Since I've been back this semester I've been fluctuating between buying every map of Alaska the Geophysical Institute has and papering my body in the topography of home, and also figuring out a way to manipulate the time-space continuum so I can cancel the rest of winter and skip right to the end of my life as I know it.
Anyway, as per usual, I'm an emotional wreck because A. the melodrama that occasionally happens to seep through into my writing is always on in full force inside my head, especially now that I'm a few months away from LEAVING MY LIFE IN ALASKA AND MOVING ACROSS THE WHOLE WORLD and B. it's February, objectively the worst month of the year because it's still really cold and there's no hope for anything.
It should be reassuring that I've moved about a dozen times in my life, and I never end up losing any organs out of loneliness. But on Saturday I think I came really close.
I watched the Olympics until I got tired of watching luge run after luge run after luge run, and then I put on a playlist consisting of every Shins song I own, the new Ingrid Michaelson single, and some music I'm trying to get into to make other people think I'm cool because I haven't really matured beyond 11th grade. And by 9:30 p.m., I had washed the dishes, folded my laundry, and boredom was oozing out of my pores.
About four hours into my evening alone, Valerie texted me to let me know where they were and I told her that I my innards were liquifying from disuse because what is the purpose of life/internal organs if you don't have anyone to hang out with, and she responded, "Welcome to the future."
Since I've been back this semester I've been fluctuating between buying every map of Alaska the Geophysical Institute has and papering my body in the topography of home, and also figuring out a way to manipulate the time-space continuum so I can cancel the rest of winter and skip right to the end of my life as I know it.
Anyway, as per usual, I'm an emotional wreck because A. the melodrama that occasionally happens to seep through into my writing is always on in full force inside my head, especially now that I'm a few months away from LEAVING MY LIFE IN ALASKA AND MOVING ACROSS THE WHOLE WORLD and B. it's February, objectively the worst month of the year because it's still really cold and there's no hope for anything.
It should be reassuring that I've moved about a dozen times in my life, and I never end up losing any organs out of loneliness. But on Saturday I think I came really close.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Glaciers
Inside of me, there are glaciers.
They were still for thousands of moments,
but it's springtime in my soul and
now they are shifting ever-so-slowly--
but ever-so-much is all I have ever needed.
Soon enough, they'll melt into oceans,
and ships will sail on my insides,
charting courses to foreign lands,
and historians will write textbooks
about the great icy land I once was.
But for now, that future is as fleeting
as mid-winter sun. For now,
my glaciers are shifting ever-so-slightly,
and that's enough.
They were still for thousands of moments,
but it's springtime in my soul and
now they are shifting ever-so-slowly--
but ever-so-much is all I have ever needed.
Soon enough, they'll melt into oceans,
and ships will sail on my insides,
charting courses to foreign lands,
and historians will write textbooks
about the great icy land I once was.
But for now, that future is as fleeting
as mid-winter sun. For now,
my glaciers are shifting ever-so-slightly,
and that's enough.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Black and white
As a part of an assignment for a photography class I'm taking this semester, I've been taking a picture every day.
I have a couple goals I want to accomplish with this assignment. First, to impress Richard Murphy, my poetic, wool-vest wearing professor with an excellent old Alaskan man beard. And second, to accurately capture my life in Fairbanks. Because I only have a few months left in this weird, weird place, I want to make something that I can look at again when I'm somewhere else and remember that living here has had a impact on who I am.
One of the students in the class has been taking all her photos in black and white, and this week after it dipped back down below zero and everything was covered in hoar frost, I realized that a lot of life here happens in shades of white and black between October and March.
I have a couple goals I want to accomplish with this assignment. First, to impress Richard Murphy, my poetic, wool-vest wearing professor with an excellent old Alaskan man beard. And second, to accurately capture my life in Fairbanks. Because I only have a few months left in this weird, weird place, I want to make something that I can look at again when I'm somewhere else and remember that living here has had a impact on who I am.
One of the students in the class has been taking all her photos in black and white, and this week after it dipped back down below zero and everything was covered in hoar frost, I realized that a lot of life here happens in shades of white and black between October and March.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Average Tuesday
Tonight after symphony rehearsal, Valerie and Denali came home with 5 pizzas (one pizza for each roommate, plus Justin) from GAPCo, because it was Customer Appreciation Day which meant pizzas were $5 today. And we all ate most of an entire pizza ourselves at 9:30 p.m.
And at midnight, we walked to broomball, and Celie and Valerie ran ahead of Denali and I, and they slid down the hill between MBS and the SRC on their butts as per usual (Celie butt-slid her way to the SRC so much last semester, she wore out the butt of her snowpants). But because it's been so warm lately, the hill was icy and they crashed into each other at the bottom. Since I am a wimp and I was wearing pretty thin pants, I waddled my way down the hill in the Merrell hiking boots I found at the dump that have literally the most excellent traction I have ever encountered, which is important when your entire life exists on an icy hill.
Anyway, when we got to to the ice rink, Josh Hovis had several boxes of Capri Sun and it was like one of those parties you got to go to if you had perfect attendance in fifth grade and it was the best. And during our game, I completely ate it on the ice, and it was pretty rad, and I think I bruised my elbow decently (which was completely different than Monday morning, when I ate it sprinting down the hallway in the basement of Bunnell trying to catch the door to 122 before it closed and locked and I would have had to knock and everyone would stare at me. Suffice to say, I didn't make it. Also, I fell spectacularly and made the loudest of cacophonies, so everyone was already staring).
You guys, sunset was at 4:23 today and it was 15 degrees above zero and I'm not really sure anymore, but I think that counts as summer.
And at midnight, we walked to broomball, and Celie and Valerie ran ahead of Denali and I, and they slid down the hill between MBS and the SRC on their butts as per usual (Celie butt-slid her way to the SRC so much last semester, she wore out the butt of her snowpants). But because it's been so warm lately, the hill was icy and they crashed into each other at the bottom. Since I am a wimp and I was wearing pretty thin pants, I waddled my way down the hill in the Merrell hiking boots I found at the dump that have literally the most excellent traction I have ever encountered, which is important when your entire life exists on an icy hill.
Anyway, when we got to to the ice rink, Josh Hovis had several boxes of Capri Sun and it was like one of those parties you got to go to if you had perfect attendance in fifth grade and it was the best. And during our game, I completely ate it on the ice, and it was pretty rad, and I think I bruised my elbow decently (which was completely different than Monday morning, when I ate it sprinting down the hallway in the basement of Bunnell trying to catch the door to 122 before it closed and locked and I would have had to knock and everyone would stare at me. Suffice to say, I didn't make it. Also, I fell spectacularly and made the loudest of cacophonies, so everyone was already staring).
You guys, sunset was at 4:23 today and it was 15 degrees above zero and I'm not really sure anymore, but I think that counts as summer.
Friday, January 24, 2014
The weather
Ok, I don't want to be one of those people who blogs about the weather,
BUT
It's so warm, I haven't worn a hat in a week.
It's so warm, I can wear my thinnest tights with no other layers.
It's so warm, I CAN WEAR HAREM PANTS TO CLASS.
It's so warm, I broke out my stylish-but-with-no-actual-coat-qualities coat today.
It's so warm, we can't use our porch as a freezer anymore.
It's so warm, it rained this morning. And things are melting. And people are getting stylish (if xtratuffs and dresses are stylish, I guess) because you don't need to be concerned about being practical when it's 36 degrees and this is weird, you guys. Do I live in Southeast or do I live in the interior? I CAN'T REALLY TELL ANYMORE.
It's weird that the sun is setting so early and it's so warm.
It's weird that I walked to my first week of spring semester classes in melting snow.
It's weird that I had to put my hood up because of the rain this morning, not because my ears were cold.
And I know everyone has something witty to say about how bizarre all of this is/how funny it's warm in Alaska and cold everywhere else/how thrilled they are that summer is literally here. But these are puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit together, and it's catching all of us off guard here.
BUT
It's so warm, I haven't worn a hat in a week.
It's so warm, I can wear my thinnest tights with no other layers.
It's so warm, I CAN WEAR HAREM PANTS TO CLASS.
It's so warm, I broke out my stylish-but-with-no-actual-coat-qualities coat today.
It's so warm, we can't use our porch as a freezer anymore.
It's so warm, it rained this morning. And things are melting. And people are getting stylish (if xtratuffs and dresses are stylish, I guess) because you don't need to be concerned about being practical when it's 36 degrees and this is weird, you guys. Do I live in Southeast or do I live in the interior? I CAN'T REALLY TELL ANYMORE.
It's weird that the sun is setting so early and it's so warm.
It's weird that I walked to my first week of spring semester classes in melting snow.
It's weird that I had to put my hood up because of the rain this morning, not because my ears were cold.
And I know everyone has something witty to say about how bizarre all of this is/how funny it's warm in Alaska and cold everywhere else/how thrilled they are that summer is literally here. But these are puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit together, and it's catching all of us off guard here.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Someone start the countdown clock
I remember coming back from winter break three years ago and dejectedly dropping my plate down on the table in the Tilly and announcing "guys, there are over 1,000 days until we graduate." The table full of people (almost all of whom will take significantly more days to graduate than that--go UAF! woo!) brushed off my melodrama in stride. "College is great!" they said, "stop counting down!"
So I stopped and did other things--leaving home, coming home, baking over 3,000 cookies to name a few activities. And during that time with the countdown widget turned off on my laptop, I grew up and became the slightly disastrous but generally accomplished and efficient individual who continues to update this blog.
But is it appropriate to start my countdown again? Let's just say that I've just about had it with school, and I'm ready to wrap things up. Especially since I'm not even staring into a void of utter nothingness and crippling job-hunting insecurity after graduation.
Somebody start the countdown clock, because this girl's only got 116 days of school left EVER.
So I stopped and did other things--leaving home, coming home, baking over 3,000 cookies to name a few activities. And during that time with the countdown widget turned off on my laptop, I grew up and became the slightly disastrous but generally accomplished and efficient individual who continues to update this blog.
But is it appropriate to start my countdown again? Let's just say that I've just about had it with school, and I'm ready to wrap things up. Especially since I'm not even staring into a void of utter nothingness and crippling job-hunting insecurity after graduation.
Somebody start the countdown clock, because this girl's only got 116 days of school left EVER.
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