Wednesday, December 28, 2011
My Brain Right Now (or lack of one)
I have succeeded in keeping myself rather idle this week. Last week I finished East of Eden in a very aggressive approach. This week has been my brain's vacation, and it has felt great. I've only read about 40 pages of Tortilla Flat, the latest book on my sight, instead of the 100 a day I wanted to. But it's okay, I like this laziness. I feel like I'm recharging. That's probably why there's so much poetry lately on here, because I'm too lazy to write something so I find something that has been written and expresses what I feel. Hmm. I love vacation. =)
What Happens to a Dream Deferred? (or, From Langston Hughes' Inspired Pen)
Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
like a heavy load.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
"We All Have the Same Holes in our Hearts. . ."
Listener
WOODEN HEART (sea of mist called skaidan)
We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living
and since that first breath... We’ll need grace that we’ve never given
I've been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts
and it's not only when these eyes are closed
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach,
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north,
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will...
so I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship,
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts.
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new starts
we all have the same holes in our hearts...
everything falls apart at the exact same time
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step
but my fear is this prison... that I keep locked below the main deck
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward...always running out of fight
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
WOODEN HEART (sea of mist called skaidan)
We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living
and since that first breath... We’ll need grace that we’ve never given
I've been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts
and it's not only when these eyes are closed
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach,
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north,
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will...
so I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship,
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts.
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new starts
we all have the same holes in our hearts...
everything falls apart at the exact same time
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step
but my fear is this prison... that I keep locked below the main deck
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward...always running out of fight
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
Random Rant V
This Christmas was nice and simple with great food all over the place. As a Guatemalan, we open our presents at midnight on Christmas Eve instead of the American Christmas morning. This made it easier for my parents to keep Santa out of the equation; how could he leave presents at midnight when we were opening them? Consequently, I never believed in Santa. This was good because I never had a broken heart from a shattered fantasy.
Day after Christmas was my brother's birthday. We decided to revisit an ages old tradition and just go to the closest IMAX theatre and watch a documentary about elephants and orangutans and head off to eat. Does it sound dreary? Well, it wasn't. It's been ages since we were children and that was the tradition, but it felt good. I felt as if I was a child again. Man, I'm old. And my brother's older, too. I wonder how he feels.
New Year's coming. Then we will all be older. Oh man. =)
Day after Christmas was my brother's birthday. We decided to revisit an ages old tradition and just go to the closest IMAX theatre and watch a documentary about elephants and orangutans and head off to eat. Does it sound dreary? Well, it wasn't. It's been ages since we were children and that was the tradition, but it felt good. I felt as if I was a child again. Man, I'm old. And my brother's older, too. I wonder how he feels.
New Year's coming. Then we will all be older. Oh man. =)
Monday, December 26, 2011
All the Difference
| Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920. |
| 1. The Road Not Taken |
| TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, | |
| And sorry I could not travel both | |
| And be one traveler, long I stood | |
| And looked down one as far as I could | |
| To where it bent in the undergrowth; | 5 |
| Then took the other, as just as fair, | |
| And having perhaps the better claim, | |
| Because it was grassy and wanted wear; | |
| Though as for that the passing there | |
| Had worn them really about the same, | 10 |
| And both that morning equally lay | |
| In leaves no step had trodden black. | |
| Oh, I kept the first for another day! | |
| Yet knowing how way leads on to way, | |
| I doubted if I should ever come back. | 15 |
| I shall be telling this with a sigh | |
| Somewhere ages and ages hence: | |
| Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— | |
| I took the one less traveled by, | |
| And that has made all the difference. | 20 |
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Hmmm.... (or, From the Pen of Rudyard Kipling, II)
He that hath a Gospel
To loose upon Mankind,
Though he serve it utterly--
Body, soul and mind--
Though he go to Calvary
Daily for its gain--
It is His Disciple
Shall make his labour vain.
He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own--
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone--
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days--
It is His Disciple
Shall read it many ways.
It is His Disciple
(Ere Those Bones are dust )
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust--
Amplify distinctions,
Rationalize the Claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same.
It is His Disciple
Who shall tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now--
What he would have modified
Of what he said before.
It is His Disciple
Shall do this and more....
He that hath a Gospel
Whereby Heaven is won
( Carpenter, or cameleer,
Or Maya's dreaming son ),
Many swords shell pierce Him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But His Own Disciple
Shall wound Him worst of all!
To loose upon Mankind,
Though he serve it utterly--
Body, soul and mind--
Though he go to Calvary
Daily for its gain--
It is His Disciple
Shall make his labour vain.
He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own--
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone--
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days--
It is His Disciple
Shall read it many ways.
It is His Disciple
(Ere Those Bones are dust )
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust--
Amplify distinctions,
Rationalize the Claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same.
It is His Disciple
Who shall tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now--
What he would have modified
Of what he said before.
It is His Disciple
Shall do this and more....
He that hath a Gospel
Whereby Heaven is won
( Carpenter, or cameleer,
Or Maya's dreaming son ),
Many swords shell pierce Him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But His Own Disciple
Shall wound Him worst of all!
Friday, December 23, 2011
From the Translators of the King James Bible
Part of their famous introduction, in the original. . .
"We are so farre off from condemning any of their labours that traueiled before vs in this kinde, either in this land or beyond the sea . . . . that we acknowledge them to have beene raised vp of God, . . . . and that they deserue to be had of vs and of posteritie in everlasting remembbrance. . . . Therefore blessed be they, and most honoured be their name, that breake the yce and give the onset vpon that which helpeth forward to the saving of soules. Now what can bee more auaileable thereto, that to deliuer Gods booke vnto Gods people in a tongue which they vnderstand? . . . .
"So, if we building vpon their foundation that went before vs, and being holpen by their labours doe endeavour to make that better which they left so good; no man, we are sure, hath cause to mislike vs; they we perswade ourselues, if they were aliue, would thanke vs.
"For is the kindgdome of God become words or syllables? Why should wee be in bondage to them if we may be free . . . .?"
I respect all those who labored to translate the Bible. Here's to them.
"We are so farre off from condemning any of their labours that traueiled before vs in this kinde, either in this land or beyond the sea . . . . that we acknowledge them to have beene raised vp of God, . . . . and that they deserue to be had of vs and of posteritie in everlasting remembbrance. . . . Therefore blessed be they, and most honoured be their name, that breake the yce and give the onset vpon that which helpeth forward to the saving of soules. Now what can bee more auaileable thereto, that to deliuer Gods booke vnto Gods people in a tongue which they vnderstand? . . . .
"So, if we building vpon their foundation that went before vs, and being holpen by their labours doe endeavour to make that better which they left so good; no man, we are sure, hath cause to mislike vs; they we perswade ourselues, if they were aliue, would thanke vs.
"For is the kindgdome of God become words or syllables? Why should wee be in bondage to them if we may be free . . . .?"
I respect all those who labored to translate the Bible. Here's to them.
East of Eden (or, From the Pen of John Steinbeck, IV)
Friday, December 23, 2011. 12:57 AM
Again, John Steinbeck has shaken up everything in my small brain.
"Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy. To put it straight--the very rich are poor bunch of bastards. He wondered if that were true. They acted that way sometimes."
Chapter 53, part ii
Being rich can be not having anything, but having everything you ever need.
Again, John Steinbeck has shaken up everything in my small brain.
"Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy. To put it straight--the very rich are poor bunch of bastards. He wondered if that were true. They acted that way sometimes."
Chapter 53, part ii
Being rich can be not having anything, but having everything you ever need.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tamales
Este va ser en español. Mi mami esta haciendo los tamales que por alguna razón solo hace para Navidád. Estos famosos tamales no son faciles de hacer; es una tarea de todo el día. Me recuerda a las veces que voy a algun restaurante con más calidad que McDonald's y se tardan mucho tiempo. "La buena comida lleva tiempo," dice el refrán.
Me pregunto, ¿cómo espero que todo me salga yá, cuando algo tan sencillo como la comida toma tiempo? A veces creo que me apuro demasiado, sin pensar que los detallitos son los que de verdád importan. Disfrutár de las cosas pequeñas. . . talvéz así se puede ser más agradecido.
Me pregunto, ¿cómo espero que todo me salga yá, cuando algo tan sencillo como la comida toma tiempo? A veces creo que me apuro demasiado, sin pensar que los detallitos son los que de verdád importan. Disfrutár de las cosas pequeñas. . . talvéz así se puede ser más agradecido.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Christmas
When I was younger, I used to get sad when my dad spoke out against Christmas. He wasn't messed up about it, mind you; he still let us put up a tree and all, it's just that he kinda grumbled in the background. But as the years go by, I start agreeing more with my dad. Now, I won't be a Grinch with my family, but I'll try to keep things in perspective and out of the market society. Even so, I think this might just be my last Christmas list.
This year for christmas, I want:
This year for christmas, I want:
- My two front teeth
- A Pagani Zonda R, or even the new Huayra would do.
- A couple million dollars to pay for my tuition and such for the rest of my life.
- A hippopotamus
- Books! Books! especially John Steinbeck or Dr. Seuss.
- A mandolin
- A melodica
- You
- Running Shoes. and some motivation to go with them.
- Wings, please? (to fly with. . . although chicken ones, especially in bbq sauce, don't sound so bad.)
- Some peace in the world. . .=\
- Jesus to come. That would be the ultimate thing.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Random Rant IV
Someday I'm gonna grab my guitar, harmonicas, ukulele, camera, and about 500 dollars and hit the road. Just to see what happens. This is my dream vacation.
Lately I've been trying to figure out a way to come back to Union. I keep telling myself that it's all in God's hands, but I'm not sure I truly believe it. I want to believe it, I know it's the right thing, the truth. To dispel doubts takes a lot. I feel guilty about the doubts I have sometimes. Everyday though, I get something that keeps shining light into the darkness. The support I get from my close friends and from the faculty is truly inspiring. God always comes through.
I guess the need for me to take that trip and the ultimate doubt disperser is the reason why I was an IRR major, with hopes to become a missionary doctor; or why I am now studying the ways of journalism. I hope that I can make myself see what is so obvious but I skip everyday: that God does come through, He's there always for me, even when I can't see Him. A missionary doctor travels to distant lands to heal people there. A journalist travels to distant lands to heal people back home. This society is so encroached in what's in front of my nose that we can't see past it, and it hurts. This is not healthy. I want to heal people, whether away or back home, but that is what I want to do. I feel God is behind this. So I know that He'll give me the right resources.
God always comes through.
Lately I've been trying to figure out a way to come back to Union. I keep telling myself that it's all in God's hands, but I'm not sure I truly believe it. I want to believe it, I know it's the right thing, the truth. To dispel doubts takes a lot. I feel guilty about the doubts I have sometimes. Everyday though, I get something that keeps shining light into the darkness. The support I get from my close friends and from the faculty is truly inspiring. God always comes through.
I guess the need for me to take that trip and the ultimate doubt disperser is the reason why I was an IRR major, with hopes to become a missionary doctor; or why I am now studying the ways of journalism. I hope that I can make myself see what is so obvious but I skip everyday: that God does come through, He's there always for me, even when I can't see Him. A missionary doctor travels to distant lands to heal people there. A journalist travels to distant lands to heal people back home. This society is so encroached in what's in front of my nose that we can't see past it, and it hurts. This is not healthy. I want to heal people, whether away or back home, but that is what I want to do. I feel God is behind this. So I know that He'll give me the right resources.
God always comes through.
From the Drunk Albeit Genius Imagination of Shakespeare, I
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.
Caliban, The Tempest, Act III Scene ii
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.
Caliban, The Tempest, Act III Scene ii
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A Book and Hot Cocoa
Yup. I have finished my finals. Now, all that's left for me to do is. . . wait until my ride to Texas decides to go. So I'll get some hot cocoa going and I'll sit back on my lazyboy and read my book.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
'Tis Very True (or, From the Pen of John Steinbeck, III)
"'The ways of sin are curious,' Samuel observed. 'I guess if a man had to shuck off everything he had, inside and out, he'd manage to hide a few little sins somewhere for his own discomfort. They're the last things we'll give up.'"
East of Eden, Chapter 15 part 3
East of Eden, Chapter 15 part 3
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Confoosed.
Here I am at a crossroads again. I try to mask this as much as possible without seeming like I have another personality, because I hate people that do that. When people seem okay outside and their online persona is one of complete despair--what's the point? But this time I have come to a time where I simply cannot go on much longer without freaking out. I know God is always in control, and that brings peace to me. However, sometimes I wish I knew what God had in store for me so that I could prep for what is coming ahead. If God wants me to leave Union, then I can plan a goodbye to my friends here. But I don't know. . .
God is in control. God is in control.
God is in control. God is in control.
From the Pen of John Steinbeck, II
"And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost."
East of Eden, Chapter 13 part 1.
East of Eden, Chapter 13 part 1.
Monday, December 5, 2011
To be what I want to be. . .
There is so much between me, right here right now, and me, two and a half years from now on my graduation as a Journalist that anything can happen. I am currently procrastinating on two papers I have to write to write here, but I need this little break. With Jack Johnson on my earphones, I am writing really mellow papers anyway.
I love writing. In High School, I used to like writing essays--even though I said I didn't because no one else did. Now I look back and I know that I was lying. John Steinbeck puts it best in East of Eden when he notes that all writers are liars. We like to lie and hope we get something out of it. When I told this to my friend Brianna, she replied that (paraphrased) it wasn't true because things that we write have symbolism, which represent true things. I replied that we are master liars then, because the best type of lies are half-truths.
Apart from my ability to lie on paper, there is some truth to the lie that I disliked writing essays. Halfway through any essay and the play and two books I'm writing I get the feeling that I don't want to write anymore, that it's too much. Somehow I picture myself in fifty years or so filing for retirement with Huck Finn's closing words about writing books (applied to being a journalist): ". . . if I'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it and ain't agoing to no more."
I love writing. In High School, I used to like writing essays--even though I said I didn't because no one else did. Now I look back and I know that I was lying. John Steinbeck puts it best in East of Eden when he notes that all writers are liars. We like to lie and hope we get something out of it. When I told this to my friend Brianna, she replied that (paraphrased) it wasn't true because things that we write have symbolism, which represent true things. I replied that we are master liars then, because the best type of lies are half-truths.
Apart from my ability to lie on paper, there is some truth to the lie that I disliked writing essays. Halfway through any essay and the play and two books I'm writing I get the feeling that I don't want to write anymore, that it's too much. Somehow I picture myself in fifty years or so filing for retirement with Huck Finn's closing words about writing books (applied to being a journalist): ". . . if I'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it and ain't agoing to no more."
Sunday, December 4, 2011
From the musical pen of Coldplay
"Like an old dream, sometimes you feel so far away. . ."
yup. I've felt like that.
yup. I've felt like that.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
On thoughts, Barnes & Noble, and John Steinbeck
If anyone were to ask me at any given time what goes on in my head, I can't tell them. I've tried many times to ask myself what is going on in my head, but to no avail. There's too much going on at one time, and all the thoughts sort of like combine and stuff--it's really weird. They only make sense in my head, but once I try to make a sentence out of them and say "I'm thinking this," my thoughts make no sense whatsoever. So, if the next paragraph or two don't make sense, I'm sorry.
This week I decided to go for a bike ride. Now, back in High School, I was in amazing shape, but ever since then I have been in the exact opposite. My legs keep trying to go at the same speed when I run or bike, but my heart and lungs can't keep up anymore. Then, I had the brilliant idea (happens to me all the time) to go to Barnes & Noble, which is about five miles away. I love that store, but between there and here there are many, MANY hills. So, when I got to BN, I was a hot tired mess, but I was happy. I spent quite some time there, and to my dismay, when I finished checking out the three books I bought the skies were dark with the sun already set. Not only did I have to make the journey back all tired from the trip there, but I was in the dark, with my backpack and three brand-new books. Not fun.
But it was all worth it. I bought a book containing six short novels from John Steinbeck, Huckleberry Finn, and another John Steinbeck book called East of Eden. I've already read two of the six John Steinbeck novels and Huck Finn, but all the others will be a brand new read. I started with East of Eden and so far I am in love. John Steinbeck seems to be keeping his place as my favorite author.
There have been so many quotable quotes in the first sixty pages alone, and it just keeps getting better. Many of my thoughts have to do with this book, but as I am writing this I know that if I try to make sense of these thoughts I will fail miserably. So. . . just read the book. You would love it. =D
This week I decided to go for a bike ride. Now, back in High School, I was in amazing shape, but ever since then I have been in the exact opposite. My legs keep trying to go at the same speed when I run or bike, but my heart and lungs can't keep up anymore. Then, I had the brilliant idea (happens to me all the time) to go to Barnes & Noble, which is about five miles away. I love that store, but between there and here there are many, MANY hills. So, when I got to BN, I was a hot tired mess, but I was happy. I spent quite some time there, and to my dismay, when I finished checking out the three books I bought the skies were dark with the sun already set. Not only did I have to make the journey back all tired from the trip there, but I was in the dark, with my backpack and three brand-new books. Not fun.
But it was all worth it. I bought a book containing six short novels from John Steinbeck, Huckleberry Finn, and another John Steinbeck book called East of Eden. I've already read two of the six John Steinbeck novels and Huck Finn, but all the others will be a brand new read. I started with East of Eden and so far I am in love. John Steinbeck seems to be keeping his place as my favorite author.
There have been so many quotable quotes in the first sixty pages alone, and it just keeps getting better. Many of my thoughts have to do with this book, but as I am writing this I know that if I try to make sense of these thoughts I will fail miserably. So. . . just read the book. You would love it. =D
Monday, November 28, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
From the Ever Wise Mind of the Mahatma
"There is enough for everyone's need but never enough for everyone's greed."
Random Rant III
I hate money.
I hate everything about it.
It smells bad.
Even the color. As if the Devil wiped his fat arse on it.
I hate money.
I hate everything about it.
It smells bad.
Even the color. As if the Devil wiped his fat arse on it.
I hate money.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Food for Thought, Part II
Why is it that Thanksgiving and Christmas, the most unselfish holiday themes, end up being the most selfish?
From the Mouth of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
"It is not enough to say, 'We must not wage war.' It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it."
December 1964.
December 1964.
Shellshocked (or, Random Rant II)
In the Hot Zone: One Man, One Year, Twenty Wars, by Kevin Sites. Finished, 11.23.11, 11:48 AM.
I really don't know what to feel. I don't know what to think, really. This book will haunt me for a long time, and will end up in my library once I get money to buy it since the copy I have is borrowed. Mr. Sites' experiences really did fuel my want to go out there into the real world (which is found right out my front door) and see it all, stop being so whiny about trifles. Here I am, Thanksgiving eve, with all the feast almost ready. Am I really going to enjoy this gluttonous holiday? I don't know. I'm not sure I want to eat until not one more bit fits when there are many out there who do not have anything. If anything I learned from In the Hot Zone is that really I live in a "wealth of information and a poverty of knowledge." After I see that in the Democratic Republic of the Congo one military life is lost to sixty-two civilian lives. Like Kevin says, "War poses as combat but is really collateral damage." Thanksgiving, that I don't have an idea of what problems are. Maybe this Thanksgiving I won't be so gluttonous; maybe I'll be more thankful.
I really don't know what to feel. I don't know what to think, really. This book will haunt me for a long time, and will end up in my library once I get money to buy it since the copy I have is borrowed. Mr. Sites' experiences really did fuel my want to go out there into the real world (which is found right out my front door) and see it all, stop being so whiny about trifles. Here I am, Thanksgiving eve, with all the feast almost ready. Am I really going to enjoy this gluttonous holiday? I don't know. I'm not sure I want to eat until not one more bit fits when there are many out there who do not have anything. If anything I learned from In the Hot Zone is that really I live in a "wealth of information and a poverty of knowledge." After I see that in the Democratic Republic of the Congo one military life is lost to sixty-two civilian lives. Like Kevin says, "War poses as combat but is really collateral damage." Thanksgiving, that I don't have an idea of what problems are. Maybe this Thanksgiving I won't be so gluttonous; maybe I'll be more thankful.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
From the Pen of John Steinbeck
"Results, not causes. The causes lie deep and simply--the causes are a hunger in a stomach, multiplied a million times; a hunger in the soul, hunger for joy and some security, multiplied a million times' muscles and mind aching to grow, to work, to create, multiplied a million times. The last clear definite function of man--muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need--this is man. To build a wall, to build a house, a dam, and the wall and hose and dam to put something of Manself, and to Manself take back something of the wall, the house, the dam; to take hard muscles from the lifting, to take the clear lines and form from conceiving. For man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man--when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches stumbles forward, painfully, mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only half a step, never the full step back. This you may say and know it and know it. This you may know when he bombs plummet out of the black planes on the market place, when prisoners are stuck like pigs, when the crushed bodies drain filthily in the dust. You may know it in this way. If the step were not being taken, if the stumbling-forward ache were not alive, the bombs would not fall, the throats would not be cut. Fear the time when the bombs stop falling while the bombers live--for every bomb is proof that the spirit has not died. And fear the time when the strikes stop while the great owners live--for every little beaten strike is proof that the step is being taken. And this you can know--fear the time when Manself will not suffer and die for a concept, for this one quality is the foundation of Manself, and this one quality is man, distinctive in the universe."
--The Grapes of Wrath, Chapter 14.
He's my favorite author, and this is my favorite chapter in my favorite book. Everyone should read the book, and if not, read the entire chapter 14.
--The Grapes of Wrath, Chapter 14.
He's my favorite author, and this is my favorite chapter in my favorite book. Everyone should read the book, and if not, read the entire chapter 14.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Without Mouths
"I believe that anything, a story, a novel or a piece of art, has a place for you in it. A place that is yours to decide."
Last time we left our hero, Kevin Sites, he was in Africa. Well, not anymore. He's in the middle east, and he has come across a Syrian artist who likes drawing heads. Heads, in may different poses, styles, and manners. There are some carved out, watercolored, and all in different stages of emotion.
However, they are all missing one major anatomical feature: a mouth. Kevin tries to gather the reason, but to no avail. Desperately, he asks if it is the pain of not being able to express something, but the artist only smiles and says "It's whatever you see, whatever it tells you, that's what it is."
Mr. Sites reflects,
"It's a thought that, like the stone walls outside, transcends this moment and makes me wonder if that is too generous a concept for most people. many choose their place as quickly as they can without trying to understand, seeing only the garbage on the streets rather than the art inside."
Maybe we should do that more often. See past the superficial, and, as cliche as it may sound, stop judging books by their cover. The world would have more peace if we would learn to understand what the other is fighting for.
Last time we left our hero, Kevin Sites, he was in Africa. Well, not anymore. He's in the middle east, and he has come across a Syrian artist who likes drawing heads. Heads, in may different poses, styles, and manners. There are some carved out, watercolored, and all in different stages of emotion.
However, they are all missing one major anatomical feature: a mouth. Kevin tries to gather the reason, but to no avail. Desperately, he asks if it is the pain of not being able to express something, but the artist only smiles and says "It's whatever you see, whatever it tells you, that's what it is."
Mr. Sites reflects,
"It's a thought that, like the stone walls outside, transcends this moment and makes me wonder if that is too generous a concept for most people. many choose their place as quickly as they can without trying to understand, seeing only the garbage on the streets rather than the art inside."
Maybe we should do that more often. See past the superficial, and, as cliche as it may sound, stop judging books by their cover. The world would have more peace if we would learn to understand what the other is fighting for.
Home is Were the Heart Is
I strongly believe in that statement. Riding home with my good friend Molly Van Bibber, the hours flew by with expectation. The 10 hour drive seemed nothing more than just 2 hours. Eager to get home, we didn't even stop for dinner. Home is were the heart is, and mine is definitely in Keene, Texas.
Even though in High School I hated on my hometown a lot, I now see I was being immature. Just because Keene only has two stop lights and every other city has something fun to do (not really. . .) doesn't mean home can't be found there. When I was young, the grass really did look greener everywhere else. Even though it was nice to get a change from Keene when I came to Lincoln, I quickly saw that if the reason I left was to "get away" then something was very wrong. I know now that Union is where I want to get my degree, but Keene is home. And I'm never going to hate on it again. Well, maybe just on its dining opportunities. . .
Either way, I'm reminded that this world is not our home. Jesus knew what He was talking about when He said that where our treasure is our heart is also. If my treasure is not in heaven, then my heart is not there, which means home isn't there either. I really hope I don't hate on heaven just because there are no Batman movies, or no Chicken Express. I want my heart to be in heaven, so that my home will be there too.
Even though in High School I hated on my hometown a lot, I now see I was being immature. Just because Keene only has two stop lights and every other city has something fun to do (not really. . .) doesn't mean home can't be found there. When I was young, the grass really did look greener everywhere else. Even though it was nice to get a change from Keene when I came to Lincoln, I quickly saw that if the reason I left was to "get away" then something was very wrong. I know now that Union is where I want to get my degree, but Keene is home. And I'm never going to hate on it again. Well, maybe just on its dining opportunities. . .
Either way, I'm reminded that this world is not our home. Jesus knew what He was talking about when He said that where our treasure is our heart is also. If my treasure is not in heaven, then my heart is not there, which means home isn't there either. I really hope I don't hate on heaven just because there are no Batman movies, or no Chicken Express. I want my heart to be in heaven, so that my home will be there too.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Occupy Lincoln
I really want to go document Lincoln's chapter of the Occupy Wall Street movement before it gets hairy. I don't know really what the whole brouhaha is about; the "About" sections on their website isn't all that clear, and having them explain it might clear some answers as well.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Tales from a Regular Person
Any indication to his most repeated phrase was not apparent on his home facade. No, this was a big house, with a big yard, beautiful, almost dream-like. On the outside it had some well trimmed bushes and walks leading up to the front step. I rung the doorbell and waited exactly two seconds and the door opened.
"Pablo!" he exclaimed, being followed out by one of his friends. "Follow me to the garage, this is Charles, I'm almost done with him."
"Do you play tennis?" Charles asked me, holding a tennis ball holder.
"Well, I, uh, I, I've attempted to but no not really, I--" I was not expecting this question...
"Oh that's okay. I just wanted to give this away," he said, putting the holder down.
Charles soon left, and the Job shadow began. I think.
"What do you want to learn?" Joel began.
"The ins and outs of photojournalism," I replied, mentally proud of my answer.
"Well, I can tell you this. You don't want to do this, this is a dying field. In ten years I won't have work because anyone can take good pictures now--and for free. I take good pictures of the earth, but they're not free, so the industry is heading towards phasing out paid photographers. Web design and Video journalism--now that's another story."
The rest of the afternoon was spent watching him rearranging photos on his website, ranting some more about how photojournalism is fading into video, and doing a radio interview over the phone on which he spoke about a website from National Geographic and how photojournalism.....
However, I confronted him about what he does as a normal human being. That afternoon I also helped him move things around his backyard, clean the garage, and watched him do dishes and kiss his children and wife when they got in the door. "How hard is it to have a family when you're gone half the year?" He thought long and hard about his response. I added, "Everyone sees journalists as crazy people going into stories people are fleeing, but the truth is we are regular people."
"Yes, true, you have seen me do dishes. But it is hard to have a family. Frankly, it sucks. The job is fun and all, but I am away so much that it does me good to be home a day a month and hear my children fight. Most photojournalists are divorced. Now, this is just a guess, but I'd say at least 90% are divorced. I got lucky. My wife is perfect, she has been willing to cope with this all these years. But it's hard."
The rest of the job shadow became more like a chat. We talked about jobs, and how photojournalism....But we also talked about my career, and how I should focus on videojournalism/essays, as opposed to their photo counterparts, because photojournalism...
In the end, I told him about my video production class and my knowledge of Final Cut Pro 7, and immediately that struck with him. "There is video I don't know how to edit. Would you be interested in an internship with us if you make this videos?"
I didn't have to think twice about the answer.
"Pablo!" he exclaimed, being followed out by one of his friends. "Follow me to the garage, this is Charles, I'm almost done with him."
"Do you play tennis?" Charles asked me, holding a tennis ball holder.
"Well, I, uh, I, I've attempted to but no not really, I--" I was not expecting this question...
"Oh that's okay. I just wanted to give this away," he said, putting the holder down.
Charles soon left, and the Job shadow began. I think.
"What do you want to learn?" Joel began.
"The ins and outs of photojournalism," I replied, mentally proud of my answer.
"Well, I can tell you this. You don't want to do this, this is a dying field. In ten years I won't have work because anyone can take good pictures now--and for free. I take good pictures of the earth, but they're not free, so the industry is heading towards phasing out paid photographers. Web design and Video journalism--now that's another story."
The rest of the afternoon was spent watching him rearranging photos on his website, ranting some more about how photojournalism is fading into video, and doing a radio interview over the phone on which he spoke about a website from National Geographic and how photojournalism.....
However, I confronted him about what he does as a normal human being. That afternoon I also helped him move things around his backyard, clean the garage, and watched him do dishes and kiss his children and wife when they got in the door. "How hard is it to have a family when you're gone half the year?" He thought long and hard about his response. I added, "Everyone sees journalists as crazy people going into stories people are fleeing, but the truth is we are regular people."
"Yes, true, you have seen me do dishes. But it is hard to have a family. Frankly, it sucks. The job is fun and all, but I am away so much that it does me good to be home a day a month and hear my children fight. Most photojournalists are divorced. Now, this is just a guess, but I'd say at least 90% are divorced. I got lucky. My wife is perfect, she has been willing to cope with this all these years. But it's hard."
The rest of the job shadow became more like a chat. We talked about jobs, and how photojournalism....But we also talked about my career, and how I should focus on videojournalism/essays, as opposed to their photo counterparts, because photojournalism...
In the end, I told him about my video production class and my knowledge of Final Cut Pro 7, and immediately that struck with him. "There is video I don't know how to edit. Would you be interested in an internship with us if you make this videos?"
I didn't have to think twice about the answer.
Random Rant I
People, please, give the turkey a chance! Santa can wait until after I've enjoyed my thanksgiving dinner to market impulse buying and debt. Thanks!
Talking about Thanksgiving, I simply CANNOT wait (although I have to...) to get home. There simply no words to explain how excited I am of going home.
Talking about home, the weather there is going to be in the upper 70s, a far cry from this Nebraska weather. A couple of weeks ago it snowed here, and I have a blog post brewing in my mind from that experience.
Talking about experiences...Joel Sartore, a National Geographic photographer, offered me an internship piecing together and editing videos--may include videos for NatGeo themselves! Super stoked for that venture. A blog post will be posted soon about what happened there.
Talking about ventures, I will pitch the Epic of Josar (I'm making a video for them, too) to Joel, this could mean more publicity for Josar and a couple of bucks for Joel--or maybe I can do it...who knows?
Talking about Thanksgiving, I simply CANNOT wait (although I have to...) to get home. There simply no words to explain how excited I am of going home.
Talking about home, the weather there is going to be in the upper 70s, a far cry from this Nebraska weather. A couple of weeks ago it snowed here, and I have a blog post brewing in my mind from that experience.
Talking about experiences...Joel Sartore, a National Geographic photographer, offered me an internship piecing together and editing videos--may include videos for NatGeo themselves! Super stoked for that venture. A blog post will be posted soon about what happened there.
Talking about ventures, I will pitch the Epic of Josar (I'm making a video for them, too) to Joel, this could mean more publicity for Josar and a couple of bucks for Joel--or maybe I can do it...who knows?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A Veggie Pizza and a Side Order of Perspective
It’s the second time my dad has tried. Last time, the only thing that grew was a strange, tall plant which he claims he never planted. It took a while for him to realize that the plant was not giving any fruit that resembled any of the pictures in front of the many seed packets he had used. In his (paraphrased) words, he was taking care of a child which was not his. While that in itself can be a story, I am not writing about a strange plant today. No, I am writing because this time around, there were no strange plants growing. This time, the picture on the packet of seeds suddenly had replicas of itself growing on the many shrubs and vines that had sprouted. My dad’s first harvest was that of a miniature tomato, a miniature bell pepper, and a miniature zucchini, enough for a miniature veggie pizza. But what enthralled me the most was not the harvest, but the harvester.
What is harvested in the family orchard is invariably eaten. The plants have started producing larger fruits, and just the other day we had the first cucumber, although it went sour in a few minutes. But it all goes back to the harvester. He did not start off as a harvester; rather he started off as a dreamer. What others saw as a patch of earth, he saw as a dinner-growing vegetable patch. But it started off as a dream. Had he not seen the fruits in his head he would not have bought the seeds. He also had to have a purpose for these veggies because taking care of plants requires money and time—especially money and time. Money to pay the water and fertilizer. Time to water the plants—done in the mornings when the average person is still hitting the snooze button for the third time. Watching the plants grow, guiding the vines, trimming this wayward branch, killing bugs--it’s not an easy task. It occurred to me that if I ever wanted my dreams to come true I would not only have to work on them when I like the results, but especially when things go bad. I’m very sure that my dad sometimes questioned his drive, the reason for these veggies. But it was all worth it in the end.
“A miracle happened!”
Pizza toppings? It’s more than that in my father’s eyes, because he was able to reap the benefits of what he sowed all those weeks ago. To me, he was the agent in another work of creation from God, and why can’t all our dreams be just that? Be the agents of the hand of God, even—especially—when things don’t go our way.
The melon never satisfied, and the pineapple never grew. But my dad still went out there every morning. Even if the melons and pineapples didn't come out, his time was not wasted; those miracles just might end up making him happy in more ways than one.
Monday, November 7, 2011
...
Really the only things that could make my day better are:
Good News
Helping non-existent homeless downtown (it's raining, you see, and they are all inside, most likely at the shelter.)
A full day of playing piano and guitar and other assorted instruments
My Mom
My Dad
My Sister
My Brother
My Mom's Cooking
Tomorrow
Jesus Coming.
Good News
Helping non-existent homeless downtown (it's raining, you see, and they are all inside, most likely at the shelter.)
A full day of playing piano and guitar and other assorted instruments
My Mom
My Dad
My Sister
My Brother
My Mom's Cooking
Tomorrow
Jesus Coming.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Totally Just Plagiarized from Another Blog
Monday, October 31, 2011
7 Billion
The world has officially reached a population of 7 billion people.
How many hungry people have I fed? How many naked people have I clothed? How many prisoners have I visited? How many sick people have I cared for?
I think it's rather selfish of me to want Jesus to come tomorrow. There are billions who need to know about Him.
At the same time, Jesus needs to come now. There are many people which will be lost if He doesn't come now, because I am too scared and ashamed to go out there.
How many hungry people have I fed? How many naked people have I clothed? How many prisoners have I visited? How many sick people have I cared for?
I think it's rather selfish of me to want Jesus to come tomorrow. There are billions who need to know about Him.
At the same time, Jesus needs to come now. There are many people which will be lost if He doesn't come now, because I am too scared and ashamed to go out there.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Random Memory with a Moral...
It was getting close to Christmas-time and I must have been in fourth grade, if not younger. My family has never had a huge extravagant Christmas, and I am glad I never did (just so much easier on the wallet there...). But this once my mom decided to have us pick out our gifts. So she packed us up into the van and took us to the nearest clothing store. Now, before I go on, I'd like to say that my parents are really smart--actually, that's an understatement--and my mom had something up her sleeve. She told us that at the school where she works there were little children--one in each of mine and my sibling's classes--who were really poor and they were not having Christmas that year, so each of us would pick a gift for them. Immediately, a person I knew was poor and had siblings in my sibling's classes came to mind. However, I didn't really like this kid because he made fun of me, so I immediately found the ugliest shirt I could find, gave it to my mom, and didn't think much of it afterwards. Now it all worked out that the boy and I wore the same size clothes, and somehow my mom got me and my siblings to get clothes of our own size. Lo and behold, Christmas Eve came, and to the Hispanic culture we opened our presents at midnight. I got the usual sweaters from my grandparents, a cool something from my "rich" uncle (I saw him that way in those days....), and clothes from my parents. But what struck me was my mom's box. Inside, there was that ugly shirt I picked out.
Playing Captain Hindsight over here, I realize that that is true humility. We can only be Jesus followers when we give to others that which we would give ourselves, if not better. This is true Christianity.
Playing Captain Hindsight over here, I realize that that is true humility. We can only be Jesus followers when we give to others that which we would give ourselves, if not better. This is true Christianity.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Too early!
Although today was extremely tiring and I really felt like going to bed by seven, my brain just wouldn't shut up. It was the perfect time for an impromptu solo jam session...except, it wasn't, because my roommate did go to bed at seven. Maybe next time...
Monday, October 24, 2011
Go Rangers!!
That is all.
Actually, no. The reason I don't root all that much for North Texas teams is that they always choke. The Mavericks finally came through, and now the Rangers look like they're heading the same direction. Hopefully, this will all stay this way.
Now, the reason I hate the Cowboys is totally different. And personal. And I dislike them very much.
Actually, no. The reason I don't root all that much for North Texas teams is that they always choke. The Mavericks finally came through, and now the Rangers look like they're heading the same direction. Hopefully, this will all stay this way.
Now, the reason I hate the Cowboys is totally different. And personal. And I dislike them very much.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Not Just an Idealist (or, From the Pen of Rudyard Kipling)
| courtesy of one of my favorite authors, Rudyard Kipling IF If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! |
When it is Sunday and I Cannot Wait for the Weekend...
This week is going to prove rather busy. A couple projects are due, and the date for my brainchild's premiere quickly gets larger. I know I have it rather easy, so I am not going to worry about this too much, instead, I am going to enjoy myself as much as I can.
*Project One: Think of a story for Outlook.
Normally, that would mean me procrastinating and Bad Sentencing the 350 words. However, I want to take this on by the horns. I really want to finally try out the You Need the Melon approach to Outreach. I think I might even have some fun with that.
*Project Two: Persuasive Speech
I'm doing it on why people should join the drama in the spring. This might be a little tricky...but I get to interview actors and all, so could prove a funny experience.
*Project Three: 30 Architecture Pictures
Talk about time consuming! OR....Talk about a mind clearer! Could help take my mind off of things.
*Project Four: Top Christian
This is what makes me most scared. I really just want to know how Union receives this...hopefully good! I really want to send a message to Unionites. The mission for the show is to present a way to be a christian through service, example, and lifestyle. Hopefully there's an audience...
*Project Five: Screenplay
The play I've been writing for next semester suddenly got turned into a 90 minute TV performance. Exciting!!
Everything should be fun, but still. It will be one of those "fun while it lasted, but I need a break" moments.
*Project One: Think of a story for Outlook.
Normally, that would mean me procrastinating and Bad Sentencing the 350 words. However, I want to take this on by the horns. I really want to finally try out the You Need the Melon approach to Outreach. I think I might even have some fun with that.
*Project Two: Persuasive Speech
I'm doing it on why people should join the drama in the spring. This might be a little tricky...but I get to interview actors and all, so could prove a funny experience.
*Project Three: 30 Architecture Pictures
Talk about time consuming! OR....Talk about a mind clearer! Could help take my mind off of things.
*Project Four: Top Christian
This is what makes me most scared. I really just want to know how Union receives this...hopefully good! I really want to send a message to Unionites. The mission for the show is to present a way to be a christian through service, example, and lifestyle. Hopefully there's an audience...
*Project Five: Screenplay
The play I've been writing for next semester suddenly got turned into a 90 minute TV performance. Exciting!!
Everything should be fun, but still. It will be one of those "fun while it lasted, but I need a break" moments.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
What I Learned about Happiness, Hardships, and Humanity from broken Women in the Congo and a Vietnam Veteran
"But some, who like one old man whose name was called, had no problem sharing the joy of the moment by performing a little impromptu dance for my camera, making this crowd of people laugh with abandon. Everything had been taken from them--but their humanity."
--Kevin Sites, In the Hot Zone
I realize that there is really no reason to be sad sometimes. In the last chapter I read, Kevin goes to the Democratic Republic of the Congo attached to a low-key humanitarian aid organization. He encounters boys not old enough to drive legally in the US who have been recruited by the various militias with confusing acronym names. These little boys have stories of how they have killed several people--not because they want to, but because they're being shot at. One of the boys talks about how he is haunted in his dreams by a man he killed for food.
I don't think I'll ever say "I'm starving!" when I mean "I'm a little hungry" again.
Mr. Sites then heads off to a women's shelter. As an aside, I've volunteered going door to door asking for donations for the local shelter and received good responses from people who have been there. For the women in the Congo, their shelter is the banana plant groves. There they hide from raping rebel soldiers, because if they were all in one place it would be horrible. Some of them have gone through several rapes and widowing experiences, yet Kevin Sites always describes how calm they talk about their experiences. He talks about their singing, their laughter, their dancing.
I don't think I'll ever complain about Mondays again.
Later in the day, I sat down with a professor who is a Vietnam veteran. He told me about several people who went through Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. He tells me how he once sang old songs with his guitar at a veterans convention, and how those suffering from PTSD were able to open up. He told me, "I knew God had sent me to do this, and now I do it in prisons and I always get the same effect."
I don't think I'll ever complain about how hard something is if I PTSD is not a common consequence of that action.
--Kevin Sites, In the Hot Zone
I realize that there is really no reason to be sad sometimes. In the last chapter I read, Kevin goes to the Democratic Republic of the Congo attached to a low-key humanitarian aid organization. He encounters boys not old enough to drive legally in the US who have been recruited by the various militias with confusing acronym names. These little boys have stories of how they have killed several people--not because they want to, but because they're being shot at. One of the boys talks about how he is haunted in his dreams by a man he killed for food.
I don't think I'll ever say "I'm starving!" when I mean "I'm a little hungry" again.
Mr. Sites then heads off to a women's shelter. As an aside, I've volunteered going door to door asking for donations for the local shelter and received good responses from people who have been there. For the women in the Congo, their shelter is the banana plant groves. There they hide from raping rebel soldiers, because if they were all in one place it would be horrible. Some of them have gone through several rapes and widowing experiences, yet Kevin Sites always describes how calm they talk about their experiences. He talks about their singing, their laughter, their dancing.
I don't think I'll ever complain about Mondays again.
Later in the day, I sat down with a professor who is a Vietnam veteran. He told me about several people who went through Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. He tells me how he once sang old songs with his guitar at a veterans convention, and how those suffering from PTSD were able to open up. He told me, "I knew God had sent me to do this, and now I do it in prisons and I always get the same effect."
I don't think I'll ever complain about how hard something is if I PTSD is not a common consequence of that action.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
A World of Conflict
I really hope that one day I can show the world what the real world is like by my photo-essays. I really hope that one day I can show the real world who Jesus is wherever I work. Now, however, I have to content myself with Kevin Sites' experiences in his book I'm reading, In the Hot Zone.
I was also made aware of his documentary, which accompanies this book, called A World of Conflict. As soon as I remembered, I went on YouTube and searched for it. Sure enough, there it is! So...I will begin to watch this now, at least a chapter a day (but not limited to that....). If I fall asleep in class, you now know why.
I was also made aware of his documentary, which accompanies this book, called A World of Conflict. As soon as I remembered, I went on YouTube and searched for it. Sure enough, there it is! So...I will begin to watch this now, at least a chapter a day (but not limited to that....). If I fall asleep in class, you now know why.
Monday, October 17, 2011
A little homesick...
I was skimming through my high school pics, and I see a really skinny me smiling around with people who I thought I would be friends with forever. But man, I have only kept in touch with a handful of them, and sometimes even Keene seems like it is a town I don't fully remember, it has changed so much.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the days when "shut up" was a bad word.
When, after a fight, everything would go back to normal by the next day at the latest.
When popping a weelie ("did you see it?! I went like two feet on one wheel!") was the ultimate test of manliness.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the times when the hardest decision I had to make was whether to get a cheeseburger or chicken nuggets at McDonald's.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the days when "shut up" was a bad word.
When, after a fight, everything would go back to normal by the next day at the latest.
When popping a weelie ("did you see it?! I went like two feet on one wheel!") was the ultimate test of manliness.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the times when the hardest decision I had to make was whether to get a cheeseburger or chicken nuggets at McDonald's.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
In the Hot Zone
After cereal, the next (material) thing I love most are books. However, I am very picky in my book selections, bypassing any that look that won't give me much brain food. My favorite non-Christian book of all time is The Grapes of Wrath--it's probably the book I have most enjoyed out of all the books I have read more than three times.
I am currently reading Ellen G. White's Patriarchs and Prophets, Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution, and Kevin Sites' In the Hot Zone.
It is Kevin Sites who has captured my full attention right now. As a journalism major and an international rescue and relief minor who aspires to be a photojournalist/essayist in the manner of Gordon Parks, this book speaks directly to me. The book is a narrative of a year in Kevin's life as a solo journalist (SoJo) who goes to all the hot zones in the planet. (Hot zones are war and disaster areas.) Reaching out to my humanist and idealist mind and to my adventurous body, he tells the story of capturing controversial clips of a certain Marine's behavior in Iraq and also being in the Indian Ocean for the 2004 Tsunami a few months after, where he not only reported but helped bring relief to others as well.
Every time I pick up this book I can't put it down. I will try to put updates on how this book is going as I advance.
I am currently reading Ellen G. White's Patriarchs and Prophets, Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution, and Kevin Sites' In the Hot Zone.
It is Kevin Sites who has captured my full attention right now. As a journalism major and an international rescue and relief minor who aspires to be a photojournalist/essayist in the manner of Gordon Parks, this book speaks directly to me. The book is a narrative of a year in Kevin's life as a solo journalist (SoJo) who goes to all the hot zones in the planet. (Hot zones are war and disaster areas.) Reaching out to my humanist and idealist mind and to my adventurous body, he tells the story of capturing controversial clips of a certain Marine's behavior in Iraq and also being in the Indian Ocean for the 2004 Tsunami a few months after, where he not only reported but helped bring relief to others as well.
Every time I pick up this book I can't put it down. I will try to put updates on how this book is going as I advance.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
You NEED the Melon
Taken from one of my favorite books ever, Running with the Buffaloes. Somehow inspires me to reach out to others for no reason other than to see them smile.
University of Colorado
Wednesday, August 26, 1998
Spanish Class
9:10 am
Ronald Roybal excuses himself to his Spanish Literature professor as he arrives with two huéspedes, or guests, in tow, ten minutes late. The class appears to engage Roybal, a spanish major, and only Roybal. No other student answers the professor's queries. Actually, most appear only semi-conscious. Despite his tardiness, in the professor's eyes Roybal is batting a thousand.
After class, Roybal and his buddy Pedro set off across campus on a beautiful 70-degree morning. "I think it's time," says Roybal. He pulls a knife and a beautiful ripe cantaloupe out of his knapsack. He proceeds to offer melon to any and all strangers passing by whom, in his estimation, "need the melon." "Oh, you see her," he says, pointing to an attractive,petite blond, "she needs the melon. That guy, he needs the melon." Rejected once, Roybal will always ask, "Are you sure?"
Some will reconsider and take the melon. Others will try to rationalize it, but to no avail. There is no explanation for Roybal's actions other than his desire to see people smile. No doubt, it is odd. "But one time," he says, voice rising in excitement, "me and Pedro were on Pearl Street and this one guy came around like three times, and his eyes widened, and he was so excited 'cause we kept giving him the melon. It was awesome!"
Today maybe every third person takes the melon, a less successful rate than his trip down to Pearl Street. Roybal appears unconcerned and is grinning from ear to ear. "We had honeydew then," he says. Of course.
University of Colorado
Wednesday, August 26, 1998
Spanish Class
9:10 am
Ronald Roybal excuses himself to his Spanish Literature professor as he arrives with two huéspedes, or guests, in tow, ten minutes late. The class appears to engage Roybal, a spanish major, and only Roybal. No other student answers the professor's queries. Actually, most appear only semi-conscious. Despite his tardiness, in the professor's eyes Roybal is batting a thousand.
After class, Roybal and his buddy Pedro set off across campus on a beautiful 70-degree morning. "I think it's time," says Roybal. He pulls a knife and a beautiful ripe cantaloupe out of his knapsack. He proceeds to offer melon to any and all strangers passing by whom, in his estimation, "need the melon." "Oh, you see her," he says, pointing to an attractive,petite blond, "she needs the melon. That guy, he needs the melon." Rejected once, Roybal will always ask, "Are you sure?"
Some will reconsider and take the melon. Others will try to rationalize it, but to no avail. There is no explanation for Roybal's actions other than his desire to see people smile. No doubt, it is odd. "But one time," he says, voice rising in excitement, "me and Pedro were on Pearl Street and this one guy came around like three times, and his eyes widened, and he was so excited 'cause we kept giving him the melon. It was awesome!"
Today maybe every third person takes the melon, a less successful rate than his trip down to Pearl Street. Roybal appears unconcerned and is grinning from ear to ear. "We had honeydew then," he says. Of course.
Blogless Blogging
Up until now, I have engaged in what I like to call "blogless blogging." Blogless Blogging consists of blogging...except without a blog. So instead of posting my thoughts on the internet I have kept them to myself in a hidden and super secret file in my computer (one marked "blogless" under the "Do Not Open" folder in "My Documents"). I think it was just laziness at another thing to keep up online. Now, I mustered up some of the last energy left in my mid-term-study-fried brain and made this blog. Let's see how long it lasts...
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