Roi Soleil and musings

This Thanksgiving weekend I got obsessed with Le Roi Soleil. It is a French musical and is too beautiful for words. I'm very glad to be able to understand most of it by now, especially because in February I am going to France for two weeks.

I also saw my preschool friend and his family again for the first time in nearly a year. I missed them a lot. Honestly, I feel like some of my preschool friends are some of my favorite people.

I chatted a lot with my BUA friends, who I haven't been in touch with as much. And I'm still sad about not being able to be quite as close with them and I do miss them.

But I realized that I've spent far too much time missing people, far too much time doing stuff that doesn't mean much to me, and far too little time doing things I want to do or spending time with the people I want to see. Here is a song from Le Roi Soleil that kinda sums it up, I guess. Also a translation.

http://lyricstranslate.com
Life Passes By

I see faces coming & going.
I see regrets passing by.
As many dreams are passing by,
That I left to the side,
When I should have been dreaming.

I have seen some mirages disappearing,
Which will never come back.
Still, I have seen so many voyages,
End with a ship wreck,
While they were just starting out.

Life passes by,
And I have seen nothing pass by.
Life passes by.
I had only borrowed it.
Time passes by,
I didn’t know how to stop it.
And I had simply forgotten how to love.

I held back many words,
That I should have said.
But, is it still a sign of courage,
To mark the pages,
Without being satisfied ?

Life passes by,
And I have seen nothing pass by.
Life passes by.
I had only borrowed it.
Time passes by,
I didn’t know how to stop it.
And I had simply forgotten how to love.

I don’t want to believe without doubting.
I don’t want to believe
That the road is closed.
One time for all, closed.
I want to catch a glimpse of where to go.
Give me the right,
That a man can allow himself,
To abandon all.

Life passes by.
Time presses.
Life passes by.
And I have seen nothing pass by.
Everything disappears.

Life passes by.
And I want to see it pass by.
Life passes by.
I want to see you borrow it.
Time presses.
You will have known how to stop it.
Time ceases.
But, I would have atleast loved.
Time passes.
And it can pass by.
Life passes by.
And I would like to spend it
With you.

Last night, a girl in my grade committed suicide. This is the second teen suicide in our city this year. The last one was two weeks ago, at the other high school.

Last time, it didn't affect me. She was just a girl. From the other side of the city. One I'd neither seen nor heard of beforehand. It was almost as if she'd been from the next town, the next state, somewhere entirely different.

This morning, I came into PE class to see three people crying. I thought it was just one of those days, and I was right - except these days come rarely and even so, they come too often. Our teacher read the announcement to us. We observed a moment of silence. But I didn't seem affected.

All day, various people were sad. The fall musical, which was supposed to be tonight, tomorrow, and Saturday night, was postponed because it includes suicide. All day, I saw people crying and hugging and I offered consolation. But it felt oddly distant. I didn't feel sad - well, I did. But I felt more of a chilly surprise.

I had known her in the way you know people you've been with for a few years, but moreover those whose friend groups have linked with yours at times. I had passed her in the hallways, I had seen her pictures on Facebook, I had talked to her sister a few times. I might have known her. But no longer.

It's only now, a while later, that it's sinking in. She's dead. She's gone. She took her own life. I will never see her again - not in the hallways, not at the lunch table, not with my friends. She cannot see how much love pours out towards her now, how much people miss her and grieve for her, how much people are aching for her.

I don't know why. It seems that no one does. But I don't think, even if I did know, that I'd understand completely.

And I remember now what it was that prevented me from doing the same thing, a few years ago. It was the thought of hurting others so deeply. It hurt me to see their pain, and I suppose that my empathy saved me. I only wish that this girl had had something like that - something that pulled her back.

I was not her close friend. I was not her family. I didn't know her well and perhaps I don't have so much of a right to be so sad. But here's the thing. I was talking to a friend of mine and asked if she was okay, and she said: "I'll be fine. It's just she's the first person I knew who died."

I was not her close friend. I was not her family. But I knew her, and I am sad. For a life that could have been lived.

Last night, I came home
exhausted,
and tired
so tired

but not
"I've had a long day"
tired - no,

more like
"the life has been sucked out of me"
exhausted

and uncertain
of my future

And in my weakness
my demon took me.

The demon
The one that everyone has

I tried to fight it
with music
with smiles

Tried to do what I had to
and couldn't

and I couldn't care
there was too much inside for caring

and it was worse than it's been
in a while

and I don't know why:
what
did I do
this time?

I stayed home from school today
and I know it was weak

I know
I know I shouldn't have
even though I was tired
even though I was sick
even though my demon took me

I know that
and I'm sorry

There are days

There are days when life is cold
no matter the heat outside

days when life is sickening
no matter the taste

days when life is desert-parched
no matter how long you linger at oases

There are days when the music plays
and never once do you feel like dancing;

when the neat pictures on the wall
seem slanted;

when the rain falls and doesn't wash away
the exhaustion
in your eyes

or the copper taste
on your tongue

or the flames
in your skin

or the broken glass case
around your heart;

days when life is crushing
no matter your armor

or the walls you have built in desperation

and you think of surrender

and it seems like you might fall

before sleep flutters forth
on angel-wings

and you fly away
in dreams of
greater things

floating
to another
tomorrow

Editing...

The speech is done...

And now I'm editing...

And then my edits do not result in shortening the speech, even though I've cut pretty ruthlessly...

WHY IS THIS SO DIFFICULT?

I FOUND A SOURCE!

THE SOURCE

THE SOURCE TO END ALL SOURCES

(Still talking about the Oratory here. Assume that I am until I'm done with a draft of this thing.)

That Oratory I'm talking about

Well, funny thing.

So I was doing Camp NaNoWriMo.

NaNoWriMo: noun.
1. Intense masochism.
2. National Novel Writing Month, November; one must set a word count and reach it by the end of the month. For adults, the target word count is always 50,000.
Camp NaNoWriMo: noun.
NaNoWriMo during other months, generally April and either July or August. Everyone can set their own word count goal.

Anyway, so I did Camp NaNoWriMo, with a goal of 40,000 words - I reached it, at 40,089 words on 2 pm on July 31st. My prize? Bragging rights! Which I'm obviously using.

And then I realized that I did actually sign up for the Yale speech tournament and it is on September 22nd and I do have to get my original oratory done. And guess when it was originally due? August 1st.

Anyhow, I tried to get typing but frankly, I had just come out of a three-day word marathon. I had practically lived on the living room couch with my laptop. I had written 20,000 words in three days. I didn't particularly want to do it.

I ended up sending my coach an email asking for more time. She let me have a week. But I was still in a post-NaNo haze for much of that time, so it didn't get done then either.

By now I was pretty sure this wasn't going to happen, so I told my coach I wasn't going to go. Then my other coach jumped in and said he did want me to go to this tournament as originally planned and was willing to give me five more days.

Therefore, I am writing again now.

Speechin' the summer away

When I'm writing my Original Oratory and I have a kickass topic and so many things that I want to say but

HELP I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO SAY THE THINGS

Memories, Stories, Lives, and Years

Today I woke up tired (aka after a sleepover). I went to visit the Museum of Fine Arts with my friend and every time I heard the date, I knew there was something I should be remembering.

And when I came home, I realized.

A year ago today, I came back to America from Israel.

That's it, now it's been more than a year, more distance between me and that past. I don't know why the concept of the year is so significant to me in this respect. I don't know.

Part of me is a little bit sad. Part of me is just confused. It's odd - I gave my friend a notebook of mine to read, a notebook that included a chronology of the last months in Israel, and I haven't read it in a while, and I don't remember much from that part. Time goes by and I don't remember.

But looking back, perhaps Israel's changes were just as great in magnitude as the changes I went through this past year. A lot happened. I just - yeah. It's been a really weirdly crazy and wonderful year.

Really, I suppose I shouldn't try to attach additional meaning to certain parts of my life, because all of it is important. And sometimes I wonder - what if the events I don't remember too well affected me more than the times that are replayed in my mind?

A life, in my not-so-long experience, is like matter. Comprised of tiny bits that can be dissected into even smaller and smaller ones - and mostly empty space. The space between the molecules, the atoms, the hadrons, the quarks. And that space is important. It's what makes the matter hold its shape, what defines it. Because really, matter is just an exception to the vacuum (it goes the other way too - the vacuum is an exception to matter). A life is not just the memories. A life is all the spaces in between too. All the short, sweet moments saved deep inside a mind and all the stories.

We are little bits of improbability, floating in space, wanting understanding. I am not one to say what is or isn't in the spaces between. Perhaps it's things I don't believe in. I don't know. But that's what I try to find out.

Sad

I am feeling sad now, and I don't know why. I had a good day. I am okay, honestly I am. But it is one of those times when the sadness tastes metallic in my mouth and I feel like I'm floating in the worst possible way.

It's a time when I look on the world and I am so worried that other people are not happy. I am so worried that there is something I should be doing for them that I am not. I am so, so worried that someone else has the metal-taste and the floating and that they need someone to talk to, someone to make them feel better.

I'm okay, it's just that the world overwhelms me sometimes.

I'm scared. I don't know what I'm scared of and I don't know why I'm scared and I shouldn't be stressed at all.

But I'm still okay.

I saw a picture today that said something about "Feeling is from the brain. Leave the heart alone - it just pumps blood." And that is true. But where do you feel it? Your heart. Your chest. You don't get headaches when you're sad, or at least, not as much. You feel your chest.

Read that as you may. I hope your mouth tastes sweet and that you feel firmly rooted to the ground.

On Writing, or lack thereof

There is a certain silent sadness to the lack of writing.

Now, don't get me wrong. There was a lot of writing in my life this year. Essays, blog posts, journal entries - a lot of nonfiction.

But there is a comfort to fiction that cannot be achieved with such safe material.

Fiction is dangerous. It feels terrifying because creating is terrifying. It is a jump into the unknown, where there may be a safety net or a concrete sidewalk in the thick darkness. If it doesn't work, it hurts. But that analogy is a poor one, since writing fiction will certainly not kill you.

Fiction requires a certain freedom to the mind, a lack of preoccupation. My brain, when fuzzy with obligation, does not want to write fiction. In that case, my brain just wants to sleep. Or look at adorable cat gifs. Or just stare at the ceiling for a while.

Suddenly, I'm out of school and I can write again. This year, I began to doubt whether or not I was actually a writer. But I suppose, in a way, that being a writer is not a question of writing every single day on schedule. Being a writer is a matter of coming back to it. Of needing to come back to it. Of having the ideas curl into smoky rings of vapor until they condense into liquid and can no longer be contained. That is writing. It is a difficult love, but a fruitful one.

This July I venture into Camp NaNoWriMo, land of 1613 words each day and insanity. I'm excited and terrified. And hopefully, in August, I'll have a novel to edit.

The silent sadness is over, if only temporarily.

Living Inside My Head

There is, of course, an extremely subjective angle to my view of me.

Now that we are past that painfully obvious opening sentence, let's elaborate.

I think everyone has a love-hate relationship with themselves, which is the way things should be. You should love yourself at least a little, but you shouldn't be thoroughly egocentric. You should be able to see flaws in yourself.

In my experience, most people do this quite well. In fact, most people go as far as to see most of themselves as flaws with small seams.

I am no exception.

People say I'm smart, and yes, I know I am relatively intelligent. People say I'm flexible, which I know I am to an extent. People say I'm talented, which I know I am.

I know I am, but I don't think it's as much as other people.

Living inside my head is weird. I always want to stuff it with information. I always think there are things I should be doing better.

Periodically, people inform me of my intelligence because I'm okay at remembering things. Today I was helping people study for history finals, producing a date off the top of my head. "How do you remember that?" they asked, followed by, "You're so smart, why are you so smart?"

Also today, after I comforted someone who was stressing out, a friend of mine said, "Oh, she's not always an asshole."

Inside my head is a weird mix of the two views - contented with myself, yet thoroughly irritated at the same time and surprised when I get things right.

It's weird.

I don't know.

I'll go back to living inside my head.

At night, after the party

As the color fades around my eyes, I stare ahead, hearing the angels' voices sing
on the breeze, on the breeze.

As the water chills in the glass, I pour it down my throat, feeling ice
on my lips, on my lips.

Recalling the fading light and a sea's wind and a fleeting wildness
in my blood, in my blood.

As the music pounded in my ears, in my feet,
in my blood, in my blood.

And the sun escaped below the horizon, red and glistening with pearls
of sweat, pale sweat.

And songs tore from within me, within me
and my feet danced under me, under me
and a turtle's image appeared on my arm

And it was nothing if not everything

Because without the wild
what is there to the world?

Only Human

There are days like today when perhaps I'm sick and can't deal with it and it would be a pretty okay day if not for that feeling.

It's that feeling of not wanting to. Not wanting to do what I must, not wanting to be in school, not wanting to - dare I say it - learn.

Sometimes I wonder: what would happen if I stopped trying? What would happen if I stopped wanting to know everything? What would happen if I devoted myself to things that matter less to society but often more to me?

I don't know, honestly.

There was a time when I didn't need it. There was a time when I learned because it was in the books I read, because I didn't feel obligated. Now, somehow, it's become something I need to do.

Now, it eclipses me sometimes. And I will look at myself, look at what I'm doing, look at what I'm studying. And no matter how much I try to suppress the thought, it crops up anyway: Why do I even care?

I don't know. I don't know.

It's days like these when I physically cannot do my homework. But that's not the worst part. The worst is that I don't care that I can't. It doesn't matter to me.

It doesn't matter.

This scares my American self, terrifies the hell out of her. What is she if not her information? What is she if not a learning machine?

I'm tired, so very tired. Not in terms of lack of sleep necessarily, because that's normal. I'm tired because I have not rested in so long.

I have not deigned to let myself try to write a story. I don't dare. Because my studious self has learned to stay away from things at which she is less than satisfactory. I have not devoured a book in a long time. I have not painted anything in ages. I have not sat down to make something merely for myself (rather than because it will take me somewhere).

I'm not very sick, but I can't do it. I can't go to school tomorrow. It's an odd feeling. I've liked going to school all this year. It's been a good year, really it has. And today it's like I hit a wall. I don't know.

I need a day off in which to make music. Make art. Read for ages. Cut a speech piece. Do homework, but very little.

I think everyone is supposed to feel this way once in a while. But for a time this afternoon I didn't know what was happening to me. Why was I not doing homework at five thirty? Why did I have no inclination to work at eight? Why not?

Because I'm human. I'm only human. Narcissistic and haughty and ridiculous as this one of my selves is.

Human is all I am.

On "Normal" and "Mainstream" and all that crap

As my middle school music teacher would say, "Pardon my French."

This post has been in my brain for a while, ever since a friend of mine said she "turned into a hipster when she wasn't looking" and I saw something later on that day that said, "Normal girls just dream about perfect dresses and getting married."

Really? But what makes that "normal?"

Then today someone said "You're very hipster, Shira." And I kind of furrowed my brows and thought about that. Personally I don't think I am. But I wouldn't know, because I perceive myself as a much more whole person than other humans do.

This post was supposed to be about my problem with hipsters. Then I realized that was a very hipster thing to say and I would create a spiral of liesssss.

But lies are a part of the writer's life. And I kindasorta want to be a writer. So I'm gonna just go for it.

The general definition of a hipster (as much as they strain against it) is that they don't do what's cool, are not "mainstream," have a problem with people who are mainstream, dislike not being the first to know about things, are irritatingly intellectual (or at least think they are), and despise current times. And my response to this is: EVERYONE is a hipster. At least a little bit.

Because who really does love it when someone else has done what they've just thought of? Who doesn't love being the first to know about something cool? Who doesn't want to feel intelligent and knowledgable? Who doesn't think the world is thoroughly screwed-up and worries that it might have been better in the past? I don't think anyone does.

Another point on this is that "mainstream" is poorly defined. What makes something "mainstream?" The fact that it goes out to millions of people? Or the fact that the stereotypical member of the "mainstream" group likes it? And what are "mainstream" people? I heard someone say "Ugg boots and North Faces" but isn't that a form of horrid generalization? I think both Ugg boots and North Faces are wonderful in their time. And I've been defined as a "hipster."

I try just to do what I like and think what I want to think, regardless of people who might have done it or thought it before me. I believe that there are things to be done for social necessity. I believe in trying not to hate people. Especially not hating on people who may or may not have a lot in common with you.

This train of thought has also come out of trying to lower my judgment of people. I judge way too much for my own good (and others') and generally my judgments are relatively wrong. The simple judgment of others leads to stereotyping of "normal" and "mainstream" and "hipsters." And I don't think that's a valid reason for disliking something, someone, or some idea.

Personally, I'm trying not to be averted to someone just because they've got good grades, or if they smile all the time, or if they dress a certain way, or if they look a certain way (yes. I think, despite the fact that I try and push it back, I am still a little racist and still mentally insult people's looks), or if they're part of the theater crowd, or if they're overly hyperactive, or if they are perceived as "hipsters."

Because really, all the labels? They're just more barriers to tear down.

BUA

I just went to visit BUA. And right now I am so confused.

Not only did about half the students there tell me I should have applied, two of the teachers did, and the rest seemed to like me fairly well.

And you know what else? I really want to apply. But I also don't. But I do, but I don't.

I don't because I love my friends and community and speech team. I do want to go because, well, because it's BUA.

But the thing is, they usually admit only people coming for freshman and sophomore year. And I missed that chance. And I'm worried now that I missed my chance at everything else, because I don't have time to do all the things I want to do. I live for knowing, for being among the educated, for having a reason to be superior. Why did I not realize back in the fall that this was my best chance?

Don't get me wrong - if nothing else, I'm glad I went and saw the place. It's going to give me motivation in my independent studies.

But I am so, so confused. And I'm worried that I've missed my chance at everything I've wanted, and that I'll never get one like this again.

Marathon 2013

I don't understand what just happened. Explosions at the Boston Marathon's finish line. The area is in havoc. Nobody knows anything for sure.

My friend Yinuo posted about this on her blog, but I think I need to talk about it too.

Boston is one of my homes. I love it dearly, and the Marathon is of course an important part of our city. To have something like this happen - I just don't know what I'm supposed to think.

Right now nobody knows who did it and why. I heard that one bomb went off at the JFK Library, and I hear that another one was found at Riverside Station, which is three train stops from my house, but I don't know if anything is true. The train (or as we call it, the T) is, of course, down at the moment. Facebook is exploding, and I'm honestly terrified. Not really for myself but for other people and how close it is to me. I am not invincible, and no one I know is invincible. It takes something like this to realize that.

The worst part of this is not the injured or the dead, although both are absolutely terrible. No, the worst is that nobody knows anything for sure and nobody knows where more bombs might be found. Everybody is terrified because nothing is certain.

And another thing - it seems so horrifically planned. There are enough bombs that no one knows if there are more, and they are in strategic places. Whoever did this must have spent ages thinking about it. The fact that there is someone who will target this area and be so focused on it is truly frightening.

It seems so surreal. It's something that seems like it would never happen here - and now it has. And I don't know what I'm supposed to think anymore.

Remember

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel, or Yom Ha'sho'a.

Last year, I was of course in Israel. I was there for the siren, the two minutes of statewide silence. It's jarring, really. There was an entire performance, with sad songs and everything. We all had to wear white shirts that day. It was...well, it made an impact. It's impossible to imagine the individual people, so all we can think of is the numbers. Numbers crawling barefoot through the snow, silent in the forests, praying before a fatal shot. The blood of numbers staining the soil. Even the faces are impossible to find. They are only numbers now.

Today is also my great-grandmother Gertrude's birthday. She was killed at Auschwitz. I have seen only one picture of her, and I'm fairly sure it's the only one that still exists. She is smiling in the photograph, and I can see hints of my mother in her. What really saddens me, though, is that the only part of her I know is the fact that she was killed. I remember once sitting at a café and my mother telling me about the Nazis for the first time, and how they killed people, like my grandmother, in machines. She told me about Anne Frank, pointing to a house across the street with an attic window, and saying that Anne Frank lived there for a long time, being very, very quiet. I did not understand, really. I remember also seeing the one picture of Gertrude and asking who she was. My mother said she was her grandmother, and that she never met her.

That is all I know. I will never hear stories about her laugh, or about her cooking, or about her dislike of receiving gifts. I will never know whether she was a reader, or an artist, or if she liked music or dance. I will never know if she's anything like me. What was she like when she was young? How did she live?

Today is the first time I ever imagined her death. It never struck me before. How did she die? Was she shot or sent to the gas chambers? It's a twisted thought, but what else could I know? Did she cry? Did she give up hope? Did she pray?

Does she hear me wonder?

Books and Fate

I have finished the second book of the night. I intend to start a third.

The second book in question happens to be The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. It was good, but it took warming up to. I don't know if it was too close to me, too overdone, or too much of anything.

Right now I'm not sure if this voracious reading is entertainment or escape.

The thing is, The Five People You Meet in Heaven is more or less a book about fate. About how you are always affecting others and lives are always entwined with one another.

And I think, now:

If my parents had not come to school here, I would not be writing in English. I might not even exist. Was it fate?

If we hadn't moved when I was five, I might have gone to my friend's current school and thus met her and possibly all my other friends. Was it fate?

If I hadn't known so many of the people I do, I would not be this person. I could be someone far different. Were all of my encounters fate?

Fate has played a massive role in my life, I think. Fate and chance. My life sometimes feels as if it's on an edge, or a dartboard. Something random. I don't understand it.

I don't get how some people I meet seem to be like fictional characters. I don't grasp how I can have two languages and almost two lives. I don't see how I - me! - got the chance to be this way.

Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve it.

Christopher Aiff, Augustus Waters, and the Great Wide World of Happiness

There's this channel on YouTube called SoulPancake. It's a wonderful channel really, but they have so much content all the time that I don't always watch all of it. However, I decided to go and catch up on some things.

SoulPancake has a lot of different "sub-shows." One of them is My Last Days, which seems to be about people with terminal diseases, mainly different kinds of cancer. And this is when, Ladies and Gentlemen, I present unto you all: Christopher Aiff.

Christopher has Osteosarcoma in his leg, just like Augustus from TFiOS. He doesn't (seem to) have a prosthesis, but he does have a scar. And he is one of the most inspiring people I've ever met.

You should watch the video, but basically, he was going through chemotherapy and just before the final treatment, he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. His family supported his decision, and at the time this video was filmed, he had six months and two days left to live.

What I really love about Christopher is 1. his charisma and 2. his happiness with the situation. Honestly, one of the best quotes from the video is:

"The decision to be positive is not one that disregards or belittles the sadness that exists. It is rather a conscious choice to focus on the good and to cultivate happiness...for happiness is not a limited resource."

Maybe "happiness" isn't quite the right word. He says himself that he would still be grateful for more time if the world were willing to allow it. But he does not moan or mope. In fact, he says -

"...when we devote our energy and time to trivial matters and choose to stress over things that ultimately are insignificant, from that point we perpetuate our own sadness, and we lose sight of the things that really make us happy, and rationalize our way out of doing amazing things."

The dying are often the most content with their situation, simply because they must be. I am quite sure that I don't realize how much I have. I am, when I try to see it, among the more fortunate people on this earth.

Ultimately, Christopher says:

"I want to be remembered as someone who did their best."

And who am I to want for more? I want so much. I focus on how I'm not good enough, and maybe sometimes that's a good thing. I live through my learning, yes. But I don't only live through toil. I live through music and art and writing and so many other things too. It is true that I am not dying, but then again everyone is dying. We are all dying, as Hazel took care to tell us. But that doesn't mean we're not living.

Talktalktalk

There are people who I try desperately to talk to and keep contact with. For most of them, it's because I am terrified of losing that friendship or connection. I'm scared that if I don't tell them what's going on in my life, our friendship will disappear.

Sometimes it's fine and they respond to me. But other times I just feel like I'm bothering them, and they would rather that I stay away.

Then of course I'm ashamed and I start slapping myself across the face. Sometimes I really feel like I need help.

Getting Back In

Recently my girlfriend and I broke up.

It wasn't a hurtful breakup or anything. We both felt it wasn't working, and that's that. Now she has a boyfriend and she seems happy, so that's good. (They're also a cute couple. Just saying.)

I'm just a little confused. Because I got so used to thinking about her quite literally all the time, and now I'm not really doing that, or not in the same way. So there's a certain silence to my thoughts right now.

I'm sad as well, don't get me wrong. Not as much because we broke up, because it was coming...but because when we broke up, I was in love with this idea of her. I don't think I've known the real her for a while.

You'd think, after reading and loving Paper Towns, I wouldn't have this problem. Yet it is too easy to assume that your consciousness is not merely a window (and a poor one at that) but a view of the whole world. It was far too easy for me to take this idea, one that had grown with being away from her and everyone, and take it as the truth.

It makes me wonder - what if the reason I felt like I changed in Israel was because everything became an idea? Who am I, and what am I, and am I happy? I'm not sure. I'm trying to understand.

I'm trying to get more into the community of my school and really love it. I'm trying to know everyone fully and imagine them complexly. I'm trying to understand whether what I see is really so reliable.

I'm also trying not to think too deeply into being sad about things, because I've realized I'm very good - too good, in fact - at convincing myself of my opinions or beliefs. I try not to think about spirituality, because it won't turn out well, and I'm fairly stable where I am. I try not to think about what ifs, because those have been known to be trouble for me. I try not to ponder others' opinions in places where it doesn't matter, so that I keep thinking the way I think rather than taking on others' opinions as my own. And right now especially, I'm trying not to think too much about depression. Because I climbed out of it with the help of semi-existent ideas, ideas which only now I'm realizing weren't precisely true or real. I feel as though I'm on the verge, and I need to stay on this side of it, because the other side is far too dark for me to see, and life is crazy enough as it is.

Mostly? I'm trying to realize what reality is, and to get back in.

Closing Time once more

Tomorrow we are returning to America after being here for ten days. Dang, ten days is short. Too short.

I didn't realize how much I missed this place until I got here. I feel free. I feel that I'm doing enough. It's nice to feel adequate again.

Today I bade goodbye to many of my friends and much of my family. (A fuller description may follow.) It's very strange. Honestly, I really don't want to go back. America is work and the weight of obligation and constant insanity in comparison with here. I'm going to miss it so much.

But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't dwell on where you aren't. For the next few hours I'm here, and then I'll be somewhere else, and that's that. No point aching when there's nothing to be done.

So now that I've been sufficiently restored, and now that I've gotten my crazy back, I think going back is gonna be okay. I'll learn, I'll work, and then I'll come here and feel better. I suppose this will be my natural cycle from now on. And I guess that's okay.

Wish Tree

On Saturdays there is nothing much to do in Tel Aviv, because it's all closed. So this past Saturday we went to the port of Jaffa.

Jaffa's port is relatively active in terms of boats coming in and out. It also has several restaurants, galleries, and a posh indoor market. And interesting graffiti.

Anyway, there was one gallery, in which there were Instagram pictures by residents of Tel Aviv-Jaffa. Those were actually pretty cool.

In the corner, there was a small tree (or a large bush, I'm not sure). A lot of little notes were pinned to the branches, and according to a nearby sign, it was a wishing tree.

I approached the tree and began reading wishes.

"Love"

"True love"

"One who will really love me"

(I am reminded of this quote by Hank Green: "We are all differently broken, semi-functional, rusted-out love machines.")

"Happiness"

"A good year"

"A good life"

"Health"

"Joy"

As I peered between the branches, I was struck by the similarity. People put down their basest wishes, and thats ultimately the same for humans.

I don't know what I would put down. I wish so many things. Narcissistic things and world things. I wish I were better at doing just about everything. But I guess everyone wishes that. So many wishes - which would I write? Maybe that's why others put down their simplest wishes - it's too hard to decide on the complicated ones.

Finally, I came across a blank note, pinned among the written ones. I don't know whether or not it was a mistake, but there was something so true about it. An unused sheet of white paper is a fresh start - a clean slate, if you will. I think that's what we all want, and possibly what we all need.

After looking at the final wall of pictures, I followed my family outside, under the white sky, blank as a fresh sheet of paper.

People and blogs and hugs

I had this whole post that I wrote about the wish tree I saw a few days ago in Jaffa, but then I accidentally deleted it, so I will rewrite it later.

But anyways, I have a few blogs to share that I think deserve some love.

Of Hyperions and Pumpkin Pi
This blog is one I discovered a while ago. The thing that first drew me to it was the title - I mean, come on. Of Hyperions and Pumpkin Pi. Isn't that just wonderful? The writer's username is Theodora Orli, and in any case she writes beautifully. She reminds me a lot of myself sometimes, and she deserves more followers! Also hugs. Everyone deserves hugs.

The Ordinary Life of Katie
I found this one relatively recently. Katie's writing varies from descriptions of daily life to musings about the future and life in general. It's really fun to read! Also, I can marvel at the fact that she's a fencer. Wow...

Anyway, I hope that if you read this post, you'll go check these out! Hugs all around!

Poems and Thoughts of Israel

It's nearing one a.m. and I just spent the past hour and a half finishing a book of Hebrew poetry.

I don't know.

I've been wanting to finish it for a while, and now I need to reread it because I'm so tired that I'm not sure what stuck and what didn't.

But what did stick was beautiful. I really like this book, almost as much as Hazel loves An Imperial Affliction.

But I suddenly thought about going to visit Israel - this Wednesday as it happens - and I'm terrified as hell, honestly. How different will it feel? Will my happiness fade again? Where will I be after going back to that place?

I've forgotten so much, honestly I have. I had forgotten, until today, how the streets in Tel Aviv connect and how it felt to be there and being away from my friends and everything. It hurt, and I think I forgot that a little. Suddenly I remember all these things from the evening I got this book of poetry signed and how good I felt that night, and being close to my family, and having Hebrew all around me.

I'm kind of alarmed at how much this trip crept up on me. It was always kind of in the near future and all but never really this close. In seventy-two hours I'll already be there or close at least. It's scaring me. Deja vu to this time last year, before I changed.

But how much did I stay the same?

I don't know right now. I don't know anything right now.

92 Questions

1:Do you usually sleep with your closet door open or closed?

Either, I don't really care, although after I've seen something scary? CLOSE THAT DOOR.

2:Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels?

How could I not?

3:Have you ever ‘done it’ in a hotel room?

I should think not.

4:Where is your next vacation?

Israel.

5:Have you ever stolen a street sign before?

Don't I wish. Alas, no...

6:Who do you think reads these?

Some of my friends. I don't know if they'll read this, I'm doing it as a mode of procrastination on homework.

7:Do you have a calendar in your room?

If extremely severely outdated ones count, yes!

8:Where are you?

In my living room...why, looking to stalk me?

9:What’s your plan for the day?

Seeing as it's practically over, erm...procrastinate, maybe play my new Settlers of Catan, maybe squeeze in some homework.

10:Are you reading any books right now?

Several, as it happens: The Great Gatsby, The Iliad, The Odyssey, and another unpublished one.

11:Do you ever count your steps when you walk?

When the counting starts, it doesn't stop.

12:Do you ever dance even if there’s no music playing?

Why is this even a question? Fuck yeah.

13:Do you chew your pens and pencils?

No.

14:What is your “Song of the Week”?

I don't know, maybe "The Ballad of Mona Lisa" by Panic! at the Disco. But it's more of a song-that's-in-my-head-for-each-day.

15:Is it okay for guys to wear pink?

Guys can wear whatever the hell they want.

16:Do you still watch cartoons?

I never watched TV. But when the opportunity arises, OF COURSE!

17:Whats your favorite love movie?

Love movie? I don't seem to have seen one...now I feel like there's one I've seen and loved and I can't remember, if I remember after posting I will put it down under in italics along with the date.

18:What do you drink with dinner?

Water.

19:What do you dip Chicken Nuggets in?

Ketchup.

20:What is your favorite food/cuisine?

Indian, maybe? French? Italian? Israeli? Eastern European? Oh, I'm bad at this, I'll eat most things.

21:What movies could you watch over and over and still love?

Harry Potter movies, The Dark Knight Rises, The Avengers, Thor - yeah, I'm a fandom girl.

22:Last person you hugged/kissed?

My mother. Before that, my girlfriend.

23:Were you ever a boy/girl scout?

Nope.

24:When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?

Oh, tough...erm...February? Ouch. (Well, I've written letters I didn't send later than that.)

25:Can you change the oil on a car?

No...why?

26:Ever gotten a speeding ticket?

No, I can't drive...you seem suspicious...

27:Run out of gas?

This girl can't drive.

28:Favorite kind of sandwich?

Tomato/mozzarella, BLT, any sandwich with some sort of meat/cold cuts/fish and veggies.

29:Best thing to eat for breakfast?

Safta's toast, a.k.a. grilled cheese to the rest of the world. Yeah, I've eaten it for breakfast. It's the best.

30:What is your usual bedtime?

Weeknights? 10-10:30.

31:Are you lazy?

Yeah. And no. Sometimes?

32:When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween?

I dislike this use of past tense. Anyway, up to age 11, I dressed up as a Japanese girl every year, in a kimono. After that, I was a sheet ghost/bedouin (it got suffocating under the sheet so I improvised), an Egyptian princess, Dark (as opposed to light, which was my friend), and Poison Ivy to my girlfriend's Harley Quinn.

33:Do you have any magazine subscriptions?

Proud subscriber of Writer's Digest.

34:Which are better, legos or lincoln logs?

Is this a heated debate? Well, they have their ups and downs, but I would say you could do more with Legos.

35:Are you stubborn?

Not particularly, to my knowledge. Although when it involves learning things, yes.

36:Who is better…Leno or Letterman?

I really wouldn't know.

37:Ever watch soap operas?

I would tell you, but I HAVE AMNESIA!

(No, actually.)

38:Afraid of heights?

Sometimes.

39:Sing in the car?

I sing EVERYWHERE.

40:Dance in the shower?

I would kick the wall and fall over trying to do a grand battement. So, no.

41:Dance in the car?

As much as you can call swaying your torso from side to side "dancing."

42:Ever used a gun?

No.

43:Do you think musicals are cheesy?

They can be. But I don't really care anyway.

44:Is Christmas stressful?

I don't celebrate it. I celebrate DOCTOR WHO DAY!

45:Ever eat a pierogi?

Yes, I quite liked it.

46:Major annoyance right now?

Homework, as always. Stuff to do and not wanting to do it.

47:Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

I still do not favor this use of past tense. Drummer, actress, artist, writer, editor, professor/academic, and so many more. Mostly things that have no money in them.

48:Do you believe in ghosts?

Ghosts of times past? Yes. Ghosts of people? Sometimes.

49:Ever have a deja-vu feeling?

Did I not just say I believe in ghosts of times past? Of course I have déjà-vu.

50:Do you take a vitamin daily?

Gummy vitamin C or multivitamins. Because they just taste good.

51:Wear slippers?

Sometimes.

52:Wear a bath robe?

Not really.

53:What do you wear to bed?

In the summer, random shorts or pajama pants and a t-shirt, in the winter, button-down, matching top and bottom satin or flannel pajamas. Because I'm cool like that.

54:Wal-Mart, Target or K-Mart?

If I have to choose, Target. But I don't much like department stores. At all.

55:Nike or Adidas?

I wouldn't know, again.

56:Cheetos Or Fritos?

Awkward capitalized "or." Cheetos, maybe?

57:Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

Sunflower seeds.

58:Ever hear of “gorp”?

Gorp: trail mix. Yeah.

59:Ever taken karate?

No. But I take ballet, and you should never underestimate a ballerina.

(No but seriously, do you want a pointe shoe to the head? Thought not.)

60:Ever kissed someone of the same sex?

I have a girlfriend. I should think so.

61:Can you curl your tongue?

Yes, in various ways.

62:Ever won a spelling bee?

No, but I might.

63:Ever cried because you were so happy?

No. I'm not a crier.

64:Own any record albums?

My parents do, and they play in some of them.

65:Own a record player?

Yup!

66:Regularly burn incense?

No.

67:Ever been in love?

Yeah, I think.

68:Hot tea or cold tea?

If cold means not steaming but lukewarmish, hot tea. If cold means iced, depends on the season and on the tea.

69:Tea or coffee?

Herbal tea or high-end tea.

70:Favorite kind of cookie?

Sugar/butter cookies with more sugar on top. Mmm...

71:Can you swim well?

Fairly well, I suppose.

72:Can you hold your breath w/o manually holding your nose?

Yeah. Suffocating terrifies me, though.

73:Are you patient?

Yeah, unless there's somewhere I have to be at a certain time and I don't know if I'll get there. Then I freak the fuck out and shout at everyone and am ridiculously impatient.

74:Ever won a contest?

Creative Communications's Fall 2008 Poetry Contest: I got into the Top Ten in the northeast for grades 4-6. Yeah, I'm pretty freakin' proud of that.

75:Ever had plastic surgery?

No, I'm fourteen, thank you very much.

76:Which are better black or green olives?

Canned green > canned black. Non-canned black > non-canned green.

77:Can you knit or crochet?

Si und oui.

78:Wash room or bathroom?

Place where there is a toilet, a sink, and sometimes a shower or bathtub.

79:Do you want to get married?

I don't know yet.

80:Who was your High School Crush?

Loving the use of capitalization here.

81:Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way?

No, or not usually, or not anymore.

82:Do you have kids?

No, being a fourteen-year old girl in western society in the 21st century and - just no.

83:Do you want kids?

See question 82.

84:What kind of mom are you?

Honestly! What is this? You seem exceedingly suspicious!

85:Do you miss anyone right now?

I miss my family in Israel, my friends in Israel, some of my old friends here, and my girlfriend. Solid amount of missing.

86:Who do you want to see right now?

Any of the people mentioned above, really.

87:Last person you went out to dinner with?

My girlfriend? I mean, it was a party...otherwise, my mom and my brother.

88:Favorite flower?

Red hibiscus.

89:Places lived?

Boston area, somewhere in France, somewhere in Germany, Tel Aviv.

90:Places you want to live?

New York, in Cambridge again, in Tel Aviv again, London, or Paris.

91:Favorite place?

Not in the world, but libraries and bookstores and universities take the general prize.

92:A memory.

I went to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II at midnight with my now-girlfriend and her friend, and it was one of the best experiences of my life - I cosplayed as Hermione and there were so many other wonderful cosplayers. The reactions in the theater were glorious. When Ron and Hermione kissed, the cheering went on for two solid minutes, and half the people coming out of the theater at the end were sobbing. It really made me think about how much it all means to us, and how much I love it. Fandoms are wonderful like that.