"I need your grace to remind me

to find my own."

Last night, I woke up two and a half hours after falling asleep in a cold sweat. I pulled out my favorite journal and wrote this.

"Do you ever feel the urge to simply sit someone down and tell them your life story? Maybe I'm just narcissistic and the only one who feels this way. But there are so many people who, given coffee and enough time, I just want to reveal everything to. Beginning to end. Leave nothing out. And I guess that's therapy, in a nutshell. But I'm not interested in being under the microscope, especially if there's just some random stranger on the other end. But that begs the question: why am I so trusting of the people I do know? Who's to say they wouldn't judge me just as much as, if not more than a random stranger? They certainly haven't revealed as much to me as I am prepared to tell them.

We all spend the majority of our lives pretending we're fine. Just fine. But every once in a while someone comes along who, for some reason or another, we feel needs to know the truth. Rarely are we "just fine," and sometimes we need to tell someone so.

These people should be glad, no matter what hardships we reveal to them. For the type of person who encourages complete genuinity and--more impressive--complete vulnerability in others is as rare as the most precious gem.

I have yet to discover why, in my life, 99 percent of such encouragers have been teachers. What is it about them that makes me want to bare all? I wish I knew. I wish I knew why my 6th grade math teacher understood more about my struggles with reuniting with my father than my best friends. I wish I knew why my 11th grade physics teacher noticed more of the emotional baggage I brought back from Africa than my own family (excluding my wonderful momma of course, who ultimately was the one who nursed me back to health). I wish I knew why walks and coffee with my International Relations professor were more important than time with my peers at governor's school."

When I flipped to the next page of my journal, I found an old bit of writing from Angee--I think it's from the day we went to see Carsie Blanton at Crest [Why are you holding hands? Well, you SHOULDN'T.]. It's the John Mayer quote I use in some of my Ghana footage:

"I believe that my life's gonna see the love I give return to me. <3"

And maybe that's why.

Maybe.

It is most undeniably

Fall. And boy, did it sneak up on me. There's something about the bite in the air, the cup of tea, the ginger snaps. And of course, being back in school. When you mix all that up with the changing leaves, you get--fall.

And Oh, to listen to music and wander around in this weather! I'd be so happy. If only the guy at radio shack had told me that my music phone needs a headphone converter, a USB cord, and some weird sprint download in order for it to really live up to the 'MUSIC' part of its name. All I can do is slide it open and shut over and over while I walk home. God, I could never live without a QWERTY keyboard on the phone anymore. I've moved up in the world--from the crappy free phone that comes with mom's plan to a good ol' LG Rumor. And I have to admit, it's fun, what with the camera, facebook access, and (hopefully someday soon) music space. I'm hoping this one will get me all the way through college. I (knock on wood) haven't dropped it yet.

Fall of senior year also means College. I'm somewhere in the middle of it, far behind all of my friends in the application process. But the guidance counselor (admittedly, his standards are pretty low) says I'm doing fine. At least now I have a short list, which just yesterday got one school shorter. I'm crossing off Boston U. It's the only school that requires SATIIs, and honestly it's not worth the time or money. Plus it's wayyy expensive. Nothanks.

I'm beginning to learn to not compare myself to other kids when it comes to all of this. Everyone's interests are so unique, it just doesn't make sense. No, I'm not applying to Yale. Or Georgetown. And I've also stopped looking down on people applying to Montco and the like. And I've GOTTA stop telling people that Temple is one of my safety schools. It's not because it's easy to get in or it's not as good of an education! I don't buy any of that. It's just because they're not perfectly suited towards my major.

I guess I've written far less prosaic posts, but at the moment, this is life. I got a 7 (on the AP scale) on my first lit paper for sounding too informal, and I guess it's carrying over. Not that I mind, the seven actually made me very happy. Mr. Kreft said I was right on the border between seven and eight, and he decided to be a little harsh just like the AP people will be. So it goes. I'm with him.

After a week, I am more amazed than ever. This is the last year of school as I know it. There's so many pros to hold up against the cons...yet I feel like I already miss school, even though I'm in the middle of it.

Of Flying Time and Rushing Skies (but not neccesarily in that order)

Today...was good.

Well, it didn't start off very good. Let's just say that when some teachers say "class discussion," they actually mean "try and defend your opinion against your very close-minded teacher." Which is not the same thing. It makes me miss gov school--Sara would give us a reading, or Corbesero would give us articles, and the next day they would say "you defend this side, you defend that side--go." And then--you know what they did? Well, let me tell you what they didn't do: Stand up in front of the room making people raise their hands so that they could pick them off one by one. No, they sat down in the back of the room and watched us have it out.

And you know what's great? I learned that way. And you know what's not great? Governor's School doesn't count. I guess I shouldn't compare, but this kinda sucks.

So after a grueling day of, uh, two classes, a study hall, and senior priv (hey, at least my work's done), I had one of those afternoons...you know the ones. Friends, coffee, and long-awaited conversations about things that just shouldn't be said over the computer. The kind that inspire you to do whatever you do--draw, write, play. Or, you know, all three.

So, as I said. There was talking and iced coffee, journals, doodles, a disregard for wardrobe malfunctions. There was walking, and more talking--talking as usual, monologue, long, companionable silence, monologue. Maybe about the same thing, but not necessarily. Shoes were removed. There was cursing and apologizing and--what else? Swinging.

And there sure is something about the sky rushing towards you, something about the breeze in your face, something about the centripetal motion--leaves and branches are inches, then feet away, and before you know it, you're brushing your toes against them once again. I had forgotten about the rhythm and regularity to it--it's paradoxically magical. A calming rush.

And then all of the colors started changing. God, the sun starts setting so early now. And so we headed to the bandshell--because that's what you do after you swing at souderton park, le duh. And we laid down, the sun started relaxing too--finally falling behind the flag so if you closed your eyes the shadows made a strobe light against your eyelids. For a long time we were there--silent, perfectly, comfortably silent. Then the spell broke. Time was calling.

Ever the party pooper, time is.

But anyway. Thanks Angee.

Reunions are Bittersweet

To anyone who is considering joining me in June, here is what’s worst about Ghana. Coming home. Because once you realize that there are people in the world with such a wealth of love, you wonder how we get by with so little. So. Little.

Perhaps you wonder how they get by with so little money but they sure as hell do it. They rely on the benevolence of others, and their god. And they are rewarded. Some nights I wonder if in the end, they're the ones who have it right.

Some nights, like tonight, I know they do.

And that's all I have to offer tonight.

Possibly the last post of summer?

Well, nothing makes the internet more attractive than not having the internet, so I guess the fact that I’m writing today makes sense.

What does a girl without the comforts of Gmail, AIM, or Facebook do all day? Good question. Well—get ready, and take good notes, ‘cuz who knows when Verizon will suddenly decide to take away YOUR DSL for something so incredibly stupid—but I digress.

When there’s no monitor to look at, paper starts getting real friendly—the new york times, the latest issue of time magazine, and even some of those books I barred myself from reading until I finished my summer assignments. Given the current situation, it’s pretty obvious that the summer assignments are done—so very done—so I picked up a book that I started and stopped last summer, The Historian.

Now, I tell myself that I stopped that book because there were AP Comp books I had to read. But if I dig a little deeper, it becomes clear that this one simply freaked me the hell out—in North Carolina, it caused me as many sleepless nights as The Lovely Bones. This one is a frillier story, though—well, as frilly as historical vampire fiction can get. As Roger Debris would say, it is filled with “historical goodies [for example, I never knew the third Reich meant Germany! –lmao].” Plus, it’s set in one of the countries I most yearn to visit—Turkey. Annie says it’s beautiful, and ever since Global Studies, I’ve wanted to go to the middle east so much…

So last night, just like the last time I picked up the Historian, I had a dream. Not really a nightmare. Just a dream. I don’t remember the beginning too well—there was a castle on a lake, and in the castle—deep below it, more likely—there were claustrophobic, candlelit halls that led to huge rooms, that despite their vaulted ceilings, looked ready to crush their occupants at any point. There was gothic dress and a man I called ‘your highness.’ We spoke for a while, and he finally told me that his assistant would see me to my rooms, and someone was waiting for me there.

Well, I never ascended any stairs, and never felt like I was walking uphill (maybe we weren’t underground after all), and was pretty surprised when I walked into this room and there was a big, huge open window in the wall opposite the door that was letting in the most wonderful breeze—and there, sitting in the windowsill was someone very unexpected…someone who I haven’t seen in quite a while now. She smiled at me—that same snarky half-smile—and welcomed me to, well, as she put it, “Our world.”

And then the dream…it didn’t shift, but moved seamlessly into a dream I’ve had over and over again. In it, I dance with someone, someone who’s faceless, half mist, and half concrete person, who constantly shifts and reforms her (yeah, her—also weird) self to match my movements and accommodate my hand on her shoulder or waist. The dream always ends the same way—we stop moving, I look harder and harder into her face, until she forms eyes, which open so suddenly, they startle me into waking up every time.

Except this time. This time, as we were …what…waltzing? I had a conscious epiphany, so surprising that it actually made me wake up—we were both vampires (they can disguise themselves as mist, you know). Which I find pretty funny in daylight. The very weird thing is that over this summer, she read the same book, though she was brave enough to not put it down halfway. So maybe the book had brought her into my mind yesterday—or, I don’t know, maybe I just ate too much toast with raspberry preserves before bed.

Probs the latter.

Today, I got out of the house at a semi-reasonable time to walk with Ben to the high school for more picketing. It was great, we walked up and Mr. Hamilton asked what was up, and I told him that “We came to walk.” So from about 11 to 12:30, the three of us walked up and down that sidewalk, talking about politics, TV, governor’s school, and learning a little more about the strike (in Ben’s and my case, anyway). Mr. Mac’s dog Zoe was there (in a red t-shirt and everything), walking up and down the lines with us, and when it came time for the second shift Mrs. A-B walked up (sporting an obama pin on her jacket, hells yeah) and said hello. And then Mrs. Sheckenbach walked up and talked about seeing me on tv, at which point I got totally embarrassed and wanted to run away. And then a bunch of other teachers were like “yeah, great speech,” And of course Hamilton was elbowing me and calling me famous otherwise torturing me. We only went back and forth a few more times before his shift ended and it was time to go. It’s the longest I’ve walked, and my feet freakin hurt—no more picketing in flip-flops, even the sacred Tevas. And I'm glad I did it, because if these negotiations (going on RIGHT NOW!) go well, we may very well be in schooly-school tomorrow.

So upon getting home, I figured what better way to relax than scaring myself to death with more vampirical goodness? And I got two blankets and a pillow (from the couch, don’t tell mom :D) and camped out reading. Which was great, until this...bulldozer pulled up my driveway, turned in my lawn, and parked just shy of the neighbor’s back porch.

So now I’m inside (didn't want to be 'dozed), the net’s thankfully up again, and all is well in the world. Seeya at 7.40 tomorrow?

When the fallen leaves get stuck in your flip-flops…

It’s about time for closed-toed shoes. But I can’t bring myself to stow the sandals. I just can’t fathom the proximity of fall. And I know it’s all about the strike—my internal clock’s gone all screwy. Nonetheless, I do support my teachers. And I think by this point I’ve proven it—what with speeches, visits, and even a half hour walk down the picket line with frau this morning. That was actually very cool and exciting. The best times I’ve had during the strike have been while I was hanging out with my teachers. What can I say? I’m a humongous freaking nerd. That’s cool with me, though. Tons of teachers were quite happy to see me on the lines, and hear what I talked about last night. Part of me would like to claim that “it’s all about impressing the right people” and this was some kind of tactic to ensure I get straight A’s this year. But the teachers aren’t like that…and neither am I. I’m doing it because these are people who I sincerely respect, people who really do deserve better. And—okay, I’ll admit it—getting the star treatment for the past few days has been pretty damn nice. It’s sweet to see people return the respect and appreciation I give them. Watch for my picture on saea.info…

Honestly, I’m not sure if I feel 100% about that picture. It seems like the kind of thing that’s gonna get my ass kicked in school—by someone like Holloway or Allem or one of the other dumbass jocks who keeps calling ME a dumbass for supporting the teachers (I talked about that in my speech too) on the ‘SAHS Students Against the Strike’ wall. That’s actually why I haven’t written in so long—all of my writing powers have been uber-focused on spreading the facts on this strike and trying to get people to stop spreading the rumors and propaganda they get from the school board and their pets—the local news media, who are alarmingly anti-teacher.

Of course, Soudertonians have done what Americans always do—believe everything they hear and read. I talked about that when I spoke in front of the board last night…

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I know in MY education, I’ve picked up a thing or two about getting all the facts. About avoiding distortion and propaganda, which has gotten increasingly difficult recently.”

It got me applause, but I had to wonder—who was applauding? Pro-board or Pro-teacher? Or both? I don’t know how anyone pro-board could’ve applauded—the teachers haven’t even had a chance to spread the facts, let alone any distorted version of the truth. The other thing that got me applause was my acknowledgement of the lack of maturity among students, parents, the board, and [okay, fine] teachers. Now, this got the whole room clapping—even a few whoops and whistles. Hypocrites. The loud people were the ones I was trying to address—when Judy Whitmire was booed off that lectern, I knew we were in for one hell of a night. You should’ve heard it! Parents shouting interruptions to the speakers, other people responding “Shut up!” I was like wow…second grade much? It was embarrassing, so embarrassing, and of course it was all over the news…sometimes this little close minded town just drives me crazy.

That’s probably why I hopped the train into center city today—to escape, if only for an afternoon, into a place a little more cultured, a little more open-minded….okay, maybe I’m over-romanticizing here. I’m headed to 30th street, then Ellen will pick me up and take me back to Havertown so we can talk about wonderful Ghanaian things of awesomeness. Wow. In the words of that Jon Stewart correspondent, “Could you be a little more generic?” Sorry. We’re covering a lot of stuff, and working on plans for the club at the high school. It’s gonna be good. I’ll get to show her my video and stuff—hopefully it’ll help to remove the bitter taste that Annie left...either way, I’m happy to be headed downtown, and happy to see my Ellen once again…and Leah and Tim and Isaac, too! Yes, for the moment, life is good, even if the end of summer is rapidly approaching—exactly how rapidly, I don’t know.

Well, kiddles…what to listen to during this rainy train ride? Were getting into the very interesting/frightening part of the line (From Glenside to the city) where there’s all these dilapidated, boarded-up graffitied buildings around, and I need a soundtrack. I think I’ve wrung Coldplay dry…perhaps some Sia…

[[Currently listening to: Breathe Me by Sia, aka one of the saddest songs ever]]