How Quickly

How quickly we forget:

 

• That good friends, a healthy dose of nature and just the right amount of chocolate solve most of life’s problems
  
• That the bends in the road that force us to slow down are there for our viewing pleasure
  
• That friends can be family
  
• That the loch ness monster can also fly
  
• That the current pushes us along for a reason. Sometimes the answer is to simply go with it
  
• That scenic views are worth vigorous journeys
  
• That nothing is stronger than a good network of loving people
  
• That sharing laughter with those we love is beautiful
  
• That a warm crackling fire frightens away negative thoughts
  
• That waffles are a unifier
  
• That the sky is an ever-changing masterpiece we should take time to admire at least for a few minutes every day
  
• That we can jump higher than we think
  
• That if we overestimate our strength, we can tumble, spit in our scratches and try again
  
• That what feels good often is.
  
• That sometimes the most reassuring advice you can give someone is that your door is always open for everyone except robbers and murderers
  
• That a mentor can become a friend in a single night
  
• That ends can be starts, and goodbyes can be introductions
  
• That smoky hair, grungy nails and pockmarked legs are symbols of cleansing and renewal
  
• That not every great memory needs to be recorded in Dear Diary format
  

 

And then one evening takes our souls, shakes them awake, and leaves them to stretch and dance within us—it reignites brain synapses, and we remember—oh, the feeling of mud in our toes is delicious, oh, the scrapes in our hands are worth the pounding water on our feet, oh, there is something about nature that just unites us. We remember how bugs and dirt and moss all contribute to the sublime beauty that is the outdoors—a beauty that is best enjoyed with others who respect it, yet also know how to enjoy it.

I’ll be going back to the hostel at some point during the Twenty Days—whether with a few friends or by myself, I’ve yet to decide. But it seems like such an ideal place to retreat, reflect and leave renewed. 

Yes, there is a section of my summer that requires title case capitalization, and it’s called the Twenty Days. From the day I return from Ghana to the day I depart for college is twenty days. Those twenty days are the ones in which my entire summer has to happen. I want days of far-reaching adventure and low-key locality. I want days during which my only obligation is to my friends and the forces that connect us. So if you have any suggestions for the Twenty Days, please let me know below. I’m hoping to fit a few humdingers in there.

In the meantime, I’m just hoping to keep afloat amidst my crazy schedule for this week. So far, so good. Wish me luck as the end approaches. 

Senior Blues

Anyone else gotten that bipolar feeling yet? 

You know, the one where one day you're beyond ready to leave Souderton, leave high school and all of the nonsense that accompanies it, and the next day you're prepared to chain yourself to a blackboard* if that's what it takes to keep you there forever? They call it senior blues--and when I say they, I mean...well...I. 

I asked one of my friends from my last trip to Africa, a seasoned high school art teacher, for some advice for life post-grad. She returned quickly with the following list, which I plan to follow down to a T (seeing as I totally trust Annie) :

1. Exhale

2. Inhale: friends, simple pleasures, stolen QUIET unplanned moments with loved/liked ones

3. Draw a self-portrait

4. Write a poem

5. Find a day to spend alone, really alone

6. Buy a roll of duct tape to pack for college (it is the one indispensible item you'll need for everything from hemming jeans to fixing book covers to making a wallet to replace the one you lost...)

7. Look in the mirror and smile

8. Take a bubble bath

9. Write another poem

10. Exhale...etc... 

Isn't it perfect? 

*not reccomended in institutions scheduled for demolition.

Stay Bright.

First comes the news.
"I am sorry to write this in a group email. I have the saddest news--and can barely talk yet, so I hope you can forgive me...Bright died yesterday."

Then the words--far more eloquent than anything that I could produce in that state.
“If ever a name perfectly suited someone it was 'Bright...'"

And then--only then--reactions rush in. Questions and answers that don't really satisfy.

America. A teenager dies because he has access to so many pills, he can take enough to kill himself. And he does. On the way to his funeral two more kids make a promise--to stop, to reform. To learn. But the next day, another is hospitalized for the same error of excess...

Africa. A grown man with a mother and a son who depend on him dies because he can't afford the one pill he needs. And the next day, another family is broken by this same injustice.

Back in America--to themselves and to Africa, they promise: never again.

But on both sides of the Atlantic the cycle continues. Ever again.

It's a bit of cosmic irony...but being bitter serves no one. Injustice isn't worth bemoaning...but it is worth fighting. And Bright Gasper is worth honoring.

What happened--it doesn't just happen in Africa. But it does happen more there. In the hospital because of a long case of typhoid, Bright got a blood transfusion. It should have saved him but did the opposite, as he received the wrong type of blood.

The cause of Bright's passing may be more upsetting than the fact that he's gone. Bright lived each day acknowledging the gift that it was, thankful for just 24 more hours of vitality. And a vital man he was: always eager to teach, eager to learn, eager to help others and make sure everyone was okay, enjoying themselves as much as possible. He laughed when we told him he was "so GQ" and laughed even harder when we told him what it meant. He was steady and collected both on our many road trips and in marketplace dealmaking.

There's something different about the mentality in Africa. There, rarely does one look too far into the future--instead, the goal is to live each day to the fullest. The loss of a man who was such a fine example of that lifestyle sends my mind in circles--half of me is tempted to be sad that someone with so much life left in him lost his life so early. But the other half of me is tempted to learn from Bright. We can't forget the people who are gone, but we can't spend too long mourning, either. Because in the end, the most important thing is to live each day for the gift it is.




"Never slow down, never look back, live each day with adolescent verve and spunk and curiosity and playfulness."

RIP Bright Gasper.

Arr...I'm a Bookaneer

Not everyone knows this, but only approximately 0.01% of books are made to be bought and set on a shelf. Only a very certain type of book deserves to stay with you forever, only the one that you can truly read over and over again, with notes scribbled in the margins and dog-eared pages and covers worn ragged by travel and love. The rest are to be passed along to friends.

What is a book? It’s a collection of ideas. And ideas are nothing if you don’t share them with at least one other person, and trust that they’ll share it with another, and trust that at some point those ideas will get caught up in the web of human of interaction, passed round and round until they are accepted as truth.

Fiction pieces aren’t stories. They’re thesis papers. They’re philosophies. Someone wrote that plot and developed that character in order to lead you through a specific train of thought, in order to make you understand what they think. They just happened to choose to present it in a medium slightly less dry than Plato’s works. NOT that they’re not also fantastic in their own right…

Why the book musings? I just finished a good one today—the kind of book that’s so good, you get unstuck in time, concerned with nothing but soaking up every nuance of the piece until…wow, it’s 10 o’ clock and you haven’t gotten off the couch since you finished your homework and ate dinner. It was called The God of Animals and it (teenage reading euphemism in 3…2…) really put my life in perspective.

And in case you’re wondering…I will be passing it on. This one has already made the rounds through my family and will now be introduced to a teacher…hopefully to be passed along once again.

Just For Now...

For two hours today--two full hours--I was allowed to be perfectly still as the world spun around me. As people outside the window ran to catch buses and sped to beat rush hour, as they made phone calls and sent emails and broadcasted news reports, I sat. With one person. And talked. And sometimes didn't even talk, just listened or felt or took another long sip of agave-sweetened coffee. I let the curls be pulled from my hair, let words and laughs and sighs escape uninhibited, let my feet dangle over the edge of a leather armrest clearly not meant for feet, yet so conducive to lounging...and as I became conscious of exactly how much I was letting go, I began to feel like I was exhaling for the first time in months.

That's right. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I HAVE time--it could be attributed to the return of Senior Privilege, the fact that I'm starting to feel in control of my schedule overall, and/or the fact that the scheduling nirvana that is Ghana (gotta love the equatorial pace) looms ever nearer. Finally I feel like I have time to write again, time to work but also time to reflect, relax...and respire, for god's sake.

So as senior year comes to a close, expect THIS to start occurring regularly again--posting, I mean. I'm feeling renewed and ready to give this another go.

Tell Me Your Life Story

I've never come so close to crying in a German class, which is embarrassing.

Jackson later summed this up in the truest way. "Isn't it amazing how people come to the same end by such completely different means?"

I have a story for you, a story of the life of someone much more dedicated than I. The story of someone very similar to me, though you'd never guess it from the outside. Someone with whom, in fact, I assumed from the get-go I had nothing in common. Come gather round and be amazed by how life proves us wrong.

He told us the story completely in German. For some reason, that made it more amazing. I understood an entire story in a foreign language--and it connected with me so deeply that I became emotional. I think that means something about how much I've learned, even if I've been embarrassingly rusty these past few weeks. But since we're not all German students, I'll give you the English version:

As a child, his home life was less than perfect. His father worked in a factory, his mother was a housewife, and neither particularly cared about school or what happened afterward. His sister hated school, but he loved it--in fact, he loved it so much that he, as he discovered later, made himself a new family at school. His friends were his siblings, his teachers his parents--and aunts, and uncles, and grandparents, cousins, neighbors. He poured everything into his studies and was encouraged often by his grandmother, who valued education the same way he did. He knew that he had to be more, that he didn't want to work in a factory like his father--he wanted to go to college. But his parents wouldn't pay. So after pouring his heart and soul into twelve years of school, he spent another eleven years putting his heart and soul into hard work. Eleven years. He was 29 when he finally entered college, 34 when his dream career became reality.

And he hasn't looked back since.

Now, no one in this world who truly knows me can doubt that I always have good intentions. In my best moments, I'm a visionary. But even in my best moments, following through with a plan is so hard. Staying dedicated and resisting the urge to fall into the path of least resistance takes every ounce of my consciousness--it takes lists on post-its and white boards, it takes google calendars and text message alerts and it takes a lot of pushing from those who tell me, "I know you can do it. "

Only after I hear stories like this do I truly feel "I know I can do it." Some people wait and work years to realize their dreams, and in my case things so often simply fall into place. Some would cite that as evidence of some higher being, some cosmic force working in my favor. But the cosmos, the universe, fate or god or gods or some random chain of circumstances rewarded this teacher for working hard. He is someone for whom I hold a great amount of respect, multiplied tenfold by the five-minute story he shared with us today.

It makes me wonder--it makes me hope--that one day, I'll tell my story (maybe entirely in some foreign language) and it will move someone to tears, it will inspire someone to laugh longer or work harder or spread the love as far as it can reach.

I think that's what I really hope for my documentary premiere in two weeks. That people will be so inspired, for some short period they'll feel what I feel. A calling to change the world, a feeling of infinite hope, a feeling of being in touch with some light that will spread wider and wider until all feel its warmth--knowledge, I mean.

I can only hope and act and pray that my intentions serve me well this time around.

Come to This

Old Frienships, New Life, and Many Things in between

A note, before I begin. The topic of this blog was inspired by the writings of Dr. Sara. Sara wondered if valentine’s day was only for celebrating romantic love. Must the day only be about a significant other?

Well, I subscribe to Sara’s conclusion—if we’re celebrating love, we might as well celebrate its diversity and universalism. From old friendships to new life—and between, romance and role models, and maybe the activities we love, and—what the hell—maybe your dog, and if you’re feeling particularly groovy, maybe nature or humankind in general [resists the urge to end this sentence with “man”].

The fact is that today made me realize that I have a lot to be thankful for: the good, best, most amazing set of friends that anyone could ask for. A wonderfully thoughtful boyfriend who always tolerates my lateness and bakes a mean sugar cookie (and his feast-making family). The spirit-boosting feeling that someone is watching out for me, that the soul of some guardian and I are someone connected. The band of psychos that make up the Young Actor’s Company, always teaching me about the art of collaboration. A classroom of 40, waiting for me across the Atlantic. And of course, my family, who brought a brand new baby cousin into the world today.

LOVE is not about chocolate or flowers or hearts that say “be mine.” It’s about the synthesis of feelings you can have for just one person—affection, respect, and probably quite a few you can’t quite find a name for. Which is why we are all capable of loving so many people. And that is worth celebrating.

Angee: go back to africa for a minute, okay?
Angee: listen.
Angee: watch your videos, look through your pictures. read your journal. just do that tonight, okay? take ten minutes to go back to that time, where you felt infinite. where you saw the hope and the strength in those kids at the airfield school, in isaac and annie and bright and godsway. drink that in. your strength is there, shelbs. go back to that, bring out that strength and that hope.
yo firecracker: those kids, that school, that country - it's all inside you. i promise you, it is.



Shelby: it is.

PS Happy Inauguration day. I spent mine with people I love. And I will not not not forget it.

"Strength is measured by what you build, not what you destroy."

"What a piece of work is man"

is the name of Angee's blog. It's a pleasing quote. Today I was writing my little mini-speech for the student of the month (shelby kay-fantozzi is the STUDENT OF THE MONTH! Be excited.) and--well--are you aware of those moments in which you decide to have an opinion on something kind of out of thin air? It was an epiphany, I guess. So I was writing my speech, and pulled THIS out of thin air...

...Though I don't have her for class anymore, I’ve continued to learn from her—mostly about surviving the tough moments and enjoying the good ones. These are two people who I can approach with any problem, story—anything—and I know they’re there for me. This year I’ve realized how valuable that is and I can’t thank either of them enough.

I need to start paying attention when things like that come out of my subconscious. Generally I'm struck with thoughts like "It'd be cool to get married in a planetarium*" or--actually written as I fell asleep at my keyboard doing a lit essay--"fork demonstrates the disappointment explained ever, a let-down made even more unbearable b." But when a really good idea comes my way--well, that's the real reason I have a blog. It's the perfect sort of place to record those discoveries.

"Surviving the tough moments...enjoying the good ones." I need to spend much more time getting in touch with the optimist within me. I need to compartmentalize. At the end of the day, I need to be able to refine my experiences, separate them by their significance and grief/joy factor. I need to listen to more Bach and read more fiction novels. I need to drop the panic attacks and return to the habit of meditation. I need to allot myself time for enjoying the sun and the stars. Those are my inside goals, only important to me. Of course, I also need to get my work done, get a job, and advance my other 'outside' goals.

I write and think often about the subject of deciding what matters and what doesn't. But the practice is much harder than sitting in front of the keyboard and waxing philosophical for an audience of approximately 6 readers. I have to remember when time feels like it's rushing by too fast for me to even react to anything, it's probably because my thoughts aren't as organized as they should be.

What can I say? I'm not the most organized person. That's why other people help me see things the right way. But I'm learning to do this on my own.

Training wheels in the form of written word in 3...
2...
1...

Good things:
It's always better when we're together.
Today was international 'hug an actor' day. Aubs took full advantage.
*Air on the G String set to a montage of deep space pictures.
I made plans for surprising someone.
I went out with my friends. Twice.
Coffee.
The knowledge that I never spent even a small section of my life as a mall rat.
Innuendo.

An Edit to the Evening

Well, it seems that wearing my heart on my sleeve has opened me up to being vulnerable about many many things that I've been attempting to ignore...and in short, I would like to proudly state that my mom is always there for me and I am extremely thankful for it. I'm thankful for boo boo kissing and two-hour heart-to-heart crying sessions and every trait that I've inherited from her--those things don't just make me who I am, they make me a better person.

I'm particularly glad that I've inherited her coping mechanism--It's this feeling of breaking down, then pulling myself up by my bootstraps and saying, "how can I contribute?" or "how can I fix the problem?" Basically, how can I make myself proud of the way I reacted to this issue? So on that note, my to-do list is:

1. Thank Mom profusely.

2. Thank Jackson profusely.

3. Thank Aubrey profusely.

4. Thank Sam profusely.

5. Write a letter to my dad. This might sound awkward and formal, but I'm thinking it'll help me get my ducks in a row--plus there's the benefit of the backspace button...

6. Start the habit of writing letters to my brothers. These will be less of a 95 theses of parenting (see above) and more of a fun way to keep in touch with them. I hope. It gives me a chance to share something I love (writing!) with them, too.

7. Work on some kind of awareness campaign in memorial to Pete. I didn't know him well at all, but after Mr. Lozano had an amazing heartfelt talk with us about his passing on Monday morning, I realized that just because I didn't know Pete doesn't mean that I have to act desensitized or pretend the issue is impersonal. I know very little about why people make these destructive decisions because--well, I guess you could argue that I'm kind of a prude, I don't know their situations, and I decided early on that I wasn't into putting my body through that kind of abuse. But I feel like the way I could pay tribute to him is by getting one less kid in that situation. I don't know what this would entail at all, yet, so if you have ANY ideas...tell me.

8. Improve my attitude. I think someone out there is trying to make it really clear to me that life is short. I need to spend more time figuring out what matters and what doesn't, and allowing myself to laugh when I'm happy and cry when I'm sad. I have to thank every person that opens me up and get rid of the people that make me feel like nothing.

Let me tell you what's great.

[[say shelby...what's great?]]

I think I can do all of this.

Some Days

Just aren't good. Generally it's a matter of outlook. I started my day fussy and concerned about the stuff I'm going through...et voila, I stayed that way all day--and looked forward to fourth block, when I could hang out, take a deep breath, and detox. Sam was right...I do live in the physics lab.

Anyway, today I was reminded of how much talking to someone--anyone--can improve your mood or outlook when you're upset. Even when there's no advice to be given, no healing measures to be taken, there's something to just sitting down, looking someone in the eye, and (not to be graphic) purging. Getting a little sympathy and a shoulder to lean on makes all the difference in the world.

The really incredible part is the people who perform this therapy/gypsy magic (I'm not sure which it is yet...you can't rule out the magic) on you are generally so unassuming--they do it because it's the right thing to do, or they care about you. And they make it known simply by their actions.

This post is...not well written. But I'm not editing it.

EDIT: This was going to be a more ambiguous thanks to all people who have been there for me recently, but I really should give extra props to Jackson--for being so accessible all the time, and understanding my situation, and especially for being honest about the fact that there's no advice, or anything I can do--things "will just suck" for a little while, but eventually they'll get better.

After this afternoon, I do believe they will.

Magnetic Poet

In what might wind up being the most productivity-destroying procrastination-enhancing gift ever, my Mumsie gave me a Magnetic Poetry Calendar for Christmas.

It likely wouldn't be such a problem-maker (a welcome one, don't get me wrong) if the calendar weren't GOD in our house. It exists in several forms in order for me to stay on top of the busy-ness--Mom's master calendar downstairs, my little lit-nerd assembly up here, a white board that keeps track of my weekly activities (with room for doodles in the 12 colors of white board markers I've amassed) and of course, the Google Calendar online, which is MY master calendar...which sends my phone text messages ten minutes before any event happens, so I'm always on top of things.

It's a complicated life I lead.

In other christmas news, the gifts were good (lots of books!), the break was eventful (ice skating! movie-thons! Slumdog Millionaire!) and I got to see a lot of people. I missed a few really important ones, but almost everyone was covered. I worked on homework incrementally (though I left most of it for this weekend) and slept a lot.

And I honestly feel like I need another two weeks in order to really have a BREAK. But I'm also glad to be headed back to school tomorrow...I need a new routine.