stress.

It's something everyone experiences.  And some people are better at handling it than others.

I had always thought I was one of those people who is good at handling their stress I mean, I laugh pretty easily, I'm a 'go with the flow' kind of person... but I've discovered that I'm just really REALLY good at ignoring my problems (ie: I'm good at pretending I have nothing to stress about--it's what got me through ugrad).

But when it comes to dealing with people instead of papers ignoring my stress is not really possible.  Especially when the stress comes from needing to find a cheap, clean, safe place for  a 16month old baby and his mother to live before the shelter closes in 5 days.

I know it's stupid and selfish, I even already know the answer but sometimes I wonder--why haven't I left yet? The oldest women who has come through our shelter was 56 and the youngest was 23 and I, I've been responsible for all of them--and their kids. And for those of you who know me, I'm barely able to be responsible for myself... and I kinda hate kids.  Well, hate is a strong word, I really can't stand being around babies or young kids for long periods of time.

*sigh* Right then. Self-pity party over. 5 days. I've got some resources to look up.

work.

It's a constant emotional roller coaster, with considerably more downs than ups.  And the only thing getting me through the extra month that i'm staying is the fact that i get to go home oh so soon.

And now I have a decision to make, and it may be the most grown-up decision I've ever had to make. It's a big girl job, with a big girl salary and it's mine for the taking--if I want it.

My logical side is screaming at me, telling me I'll never get an opportunity like this again, that it would be a great step up in the non-profit business world, that it would counter-balance my science bulging resume and potentially make me a candidate for the type of east coast school of public policy I still dream of getting into someday...

but there's this quiet voice, pulling at my heart; never quite giving up, forcing me to acknowledge that while i may have come to a point where i've accepted everything (and more) that seems to fall under my current job description and i've made a considerable impact during my 8+weeks down here----i am not cut out for this type of work.

Really, i have handled everything this internship has thrown at me, from accompanist to errand girl to non-profit incorporator. It's the case worker bit of the job that just drains me. Drains me to the point where I think it might be making me sick.  No, seriously. I'm so emotionally and mentally drained by having to be the constant support system, constant positive motivator, constant driving force behind these women's recovery that it's wearing me down.  I used to never get sick and now I've been sick on and off for the past 4 weeks.  My own body is giving up on me, and it's only by sheer will power and immense sense of duty (apathy took over my compassionate side about 3 weeks ago) that I'm able to give the woman currently staying in the shelter the emotional support she needs to get through each day.

But the job i've been offered isn't for being a case worker.  and I've grown to like this town and it's people, crooked politics and all but most of all, I've come to really care about what happens to this women's shelter.  and that is where I'm stuck.

people person? probably.

Is it weird for an atheist to like going to church?

I should probably clarify.

It's not the religion part that I like about going to church, in fact that's the one thing most likely to stop me from going.  I can't stand the lectures (sermons) about living a good life/doing good deeds in order to get to heaven, or how it's the devil that makes people do bad things, or that we have no control over our own life and we should embrace that lack of control.  Obviously, my dislike of such subjects stems from the fact that I don't believe in an afterlife, supernatural beings, or (for most situations) blaming anyone other than ourselves and our choices for the situations we find ourselves in.  But this is not a post about why I'm an atheist, so I'll get back to the point.

I've been thinking about it recently because ever since I've been down here, I've been going to church every Sunday.  Which, is quite often for a 22 year old--atheist or not.

It's not a requirement of my internship that I go, I started going because I find faith interesting. Plus, the Sunday school kids kick me out of my room by taking over the room next to mine at 9.45am every Sunday morning. They're loud.

And even though I've been the church pianist for 7 of the 8 weeks that I've been down here (meaning I do now have to go to church every Sunday) I think I would still go even if they found another pianist to play for them.  Which, is a weird realization for an atheist to have.

But here's what I've learnt about churches, or smaller churches anyway.  You really get to know the people that go. And when they're people like the ones who attend this specific church, you start to care about how their week went and how their trip was and what new story they have to share with you about their life and not only that, but you enjoy seeing them every week and you miss them when they're not there.

So here I am.  a fairly hard-core atheist, of almost Richard Dawkins like atheism (though having gone to a parochial grade school, high school AND university, I know what it's like to have unwanted views pushed on you and try to refrain) who actually enjoys going to church, purely for the community aspect. Will wonders never cease.

and suddenly . . . it all fits.

i haven't felt like this in quite some time.  my heart is pounding, my thoughts are racing, a ridiculous grin is plastered on my face and this probably sounds silly but . . . I kinda feel like i could fly.

what could possibly make me feel this way?

you're going to laugh. but i'll tell you anyway.

i think i've found the perfect grad program. it's been a long time coming for me, or so i've been told, when it comes to deciding what i want to do with my life. i've slowly been narrowing it down (after ruling out any area dealing with my undergrad degrees--that would be far too logical of a pursuit to make) and to be honest, i've kinda just been stuck.  ever since being abroad i realized i want to work with international policy and human rights but i wasn't really sure how to even start doing that. most of the masters in international public policy degrees i've looked into require not only the academic background but substantial work in the field before they'll even consider you...

and then i took this internship on the border.

it's been a good learning experience in a myriad of ways: international (us/mexico) issues, women's rights issues, federal programs like medicaid, food stamps, section 8 housing, how to help domestic abuse survivors, how to run a women's shelter, how to incorporate/start up a non-profit, and even how to start filing for a divorce! but the most important thing i've learned from this internship is that in order to make a difference on the scale i want to, i need an advanced degree.

I guess i always knew that, but after ugrad, part of me just wanted to go out and make a difference right now and on a case-by-case basis (until i'm done with this 501-C3), i am.  but man oh man, once i actually started doing things on more than just a superficial level i realized just how handy a law degree would be--for a lot of different reasons.

that's right.

now, if you know me, you probably know my preconceptions about lawyers, mostly that they are probably stuck up and probably like to argue. not only is this not 100% true, i've come to a point where i've realized while i may not enjoy confrontation, sometimes confrontation is necessary to get what you need done.  and i may not enjoy arguing, but i do have a passion for insuring equality--if it takes a little arguing to get me there, so be it. as for being stuck-up? well, everyone is a bit snobbish about something.

so that's that for right now. i've found the perfect dual degree, combining my international interest and new found enthusiasm for law.  if only i would hear back from the peace corps my world would be perfect.

but enough thinking about the future--back to the present! tomorrow morning's agenda? drafting up a conflict of interest policy and ethical conduct policy and then taking a women staying at the shelter to her doctor appointments.  it's an odd mix of things that i end up doing around here, but i think i'm finally starting to like it.

only 5 months out of ugrad...

i miss formals.

not formal halls from Cam (though those are nice too)--I'm talking about Zeta (or CUA) formals. the afternoons we'd spend getting ready: trying on dresses, searching the wing to find someone to help us with our hair, giggling in front of the mirror with rap blaring in the background, all leading up to a night filled with dinner, dancing, pictures, happiness and high heels.

i guess at the end of the day, i know i'm doing a lot of good here but really... sometimes... all i want to do is be a 22 year old girl and dance.  

does that make me selfish? probably. it's a question i've been struggling a lot with recently -- mostly because the work that i'm doing requires me to be as unselfish as i've ever had to be in my life. whether it's working with the women that come through the shelter, painting countless bookshelves, staffing book fairs, or sorting out problems for the many residents that come to the mission house asking for clothes, money, medicine, etc... i feel like i'm constantly worrying about other people's problems--something i'm just not used to doing.  

then again, i didn't come here to do something i was used to doing.  otherwise i'd be reading primary papers right now or futilely attempting to sneak in time in a practise room. while there are things i miss about undergrad, school work is not yet one of those things.

but formals?  i think i might always miss those.

senior Zetas. fall formal 2009

MARE-EE-SAUL?

Mahreesol. There’s a slight stress on the first syllable, a sort of leaning into the word that allows the voice to gently flow into the rest of the name. And then comes the rolled R, like a playful flip on the end of the tongue, adding a hint of subtle sensuality which can be detected only before one gets used to the pronunciation. The last syllable, with a long O sound, ties the vocalization of the sound to another word, soul and so after all is said and done one’s ear is left with the impression of an essence. My name, when pronounced in the accent of the local people, has a sort of beauty to it; when I hear mi nombre from their mouths it sounds like poetry. It also doesn’t quite sound like they are talking about me—it’s far too elegant and exotic to possibly be referring to me. It’s funny how our identity becomes wrapped up in the name we were given at birth, a name we adapt to, grow fond of…. become. I have always thought there is power in a name. Of course, since I’m named after my grandmother and mother perhaps it is a cultural notion I’m holding on to with that idea—but I’m fairly certain if the idea of a name containing power is merely a cultural one, it is an idea civilizations worldwide and throughout time have come to accept.  So here I am, in a new culture, starting down a new path in my life, with (after only 3 days) what still sounds to my ear like a new name.  And as I peer into the immediate future, to the work I’m going to be doing down here, I can’t help but think that this change, this what at times seems to be an overwhelming change, is going to be a good one.

Memories

they give us something to focus on through boredom and keep us laughing when we get together with friends from our past lives. Memories link us to the selves we once were and the selves we have become. And yet, there are those memories--the ones we never speak of, even though they are always on our minds--the ones that keep us awake at night and leave us, at our most vulnerable hours, in tears.

Yes, I'm talking about memories of the heart.

The power these memories have over us must come from the raw emotion they contain and also from the walls we carefully build around them. But the very potency of such memories stem from fact that they were once true events we experienced, events that we can not move past--events we cling to because in the deepest recesses of our heart, we wish they were not merely memories, but fact--not merely forgotten truths but present moments, able to be relived not only in the security of our minds but in the reality of our world.

Such memories could be as simple as a night of fun and laughter with friends no longer a part of our lives, or as complicated and heart-wrenching as a love that is no longer a possibility.

And how do we move on?

Well, i guess that's the thing about time. whether we are willing or not, it marches onward--and we? well, by merely checking the clock we are willing participants in its construction and continuation.

After all, they say time heals all wounds.

I suppose all i can say with certainty right now is that memories are a refuge, not for the weak, but for those reluctant to give up hope. But hopefully someday those of us with even the most sentimental of hearts can move beyond the refuges of the past and into the truth of the present--fondly remembering where we are from and acknowledging to our inner most consciousness that there is always more to come, that there are always new memories to be made.

my grandmother's hands are wrinkled and wise

experience can be traced along every line

and strength can be seen in her hands lying still

now clasped for eternity, warding off further ill

my grandmother's hands so translucent and thin

i gently brush up against her cold skin

trying to grasp and hold on to something akin

to her beautiful presence once held within

my grandmother's hands have held both life and death

and now that she has taken her last breath

i can only imagine the peace she can feel--

her mortal pain has forever been healed.

bullseye.

The shooting range here in town is different than i thought it would be. it's not cold and militaristic, there aren't NRA posters everywhere and I have yet to see any sort of taxidermied animal hanging out. There's even a woman elected as one of the club's officers! Everyone is asked to clean up after themselves, and it's kept fairly tidy--considering that it's really just a big 'boy's club'. And usually there's only one or two people in there at a time, I guess the people that go there aren't really looking for company and they usually leave if another person comes in to shoot. In fact, if it weren't for the frequent sounds of gunfire it could be considered a nice place to get away and just . . . think. Which, is kinda a funny thing for me to admit because i tend to view violence in any form (even just practising it) as a mindless act--unless, i suppose, you're an assassin . . . but that's a whole 'nother issue.

I can't say that i like shooting a gun, or that i'm any good at it, (i seem to anticipate the kick too much) but i do manage to hit the target a good 65% of the time and I even get off a lucky shot every once in a while. bullseye.

i guess as happens with every new experience, i learned something about myself by going to the shooting range. i'm fairly confident that if i'm ever in the situation i'll have a very hard time shooting at a living being (i have a hard enough time shooting at the human shaped target!), and while i appreciate those who serve in our military and understand the necessity for upholding the 2nd amendment (as long as the firearm is used appropriately and respectfully), i think i might be tending more and more towards pacifism as a personal philosophy--which, is a fairly big step considering my family's long standing tradition of being in the military. Yes, this is what i learned about myself by going to the shooting range: i'm slowly turning into a leftist hippie--or maybe i've really just been one all along.

I also realized that listening to classical music on your ipod during target practise will not only be an odd juxtaposition, it will probably make you feel like a superhero villain . . .

but maybe that's just me.

the graduate.

I had a realization today as I was cleaning out my lab space, labeling the last bits of my synthesized compound, soaking in my last moments in my research advisor's lab: i'm giving all of this up. Science has been my academic passion and life for the past 8 years if not more and now, with my decision to explore the world of humanitarian works and non-profit businesses, with that one choice, I've effectively turned my back on science. Perhaps not for forever, but at least definitely for now. and I'm not really sure how I feel about that yet.

soul searching

So backpacking around europe was not only a blast, but also a huge learning experience for me. I found out that I can basically get along with anyone i meet (except for creepers you meet the night before who turn up at the bus station the next day), i also learned that as much as i uphold the ideals of spontaneity and adventure, i'm not as adventurous as i would like to think i am--which probably ends up being the safer thing in the end. my favorite part about visiting places is not the food, or the museums, or the monuments, but the actual people i meet--those are the parts of my travels that i remember best; maybe someday i'll be able to tell you about them. My worldview has been broadened, and i do believe that in the 5 weeks i spent traveling i learnt more about myself than the rest of these 20 years combined--there is just something about traveling alone or with one other person (especially one who you didn't know so well at the beginning of the travels) that just forces you to become introspective and learn not only about your constantly changing surroundings, but about yourself. perhaps it is due to the constantly changing surroundings that you learn more about yourself.

anyway, that's the ending of my winter holiday break--took me long enough to write about, but now you are all caught up. on my life til mid January at least.