Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
There is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, languages, even the phrase "each other"
Doesn't make any sense

-- Jelauddin Rumi Sufhi poet

Saw that on an advertisement in the subway today. One of those things that you scramble to find a pen and paper to write down and hope you can read it later because the train was moving so fast.

Went to the march in NYC. Got a little motivated, sun, a lot of fun, and tired. There were no Republican protesters and I am a little disappointed. I kept looking for them because last year that was definitely one of the highlights. Watching an old woman yell at some smart ass kid that one day he'd get drafted and have to kill people. It's 11 pm, I've had a little wine, and that doesn't seem funny at all right now.

I talked to Sarah about India intermittently all day. I've never had the chance to hang out with her for so long a period of time and I'm glad I did. We were carrying around our signs which at one point had been taped onto long cardboard tubes, but ditched the signs and walked with the poles all day until we had to head home. She left hers on a sidewalk in the hopes that maybe some kid would find it and use it for a jedi sword like we did, but I kept mine in the hopes that I will be able to make something extraordinary out of the ordinary. If it's still a big tube in a week, I'll throw it out. My life feels cluttered ...or unorganized, but my room doesn't need to be.

Where I Lay My Head Is Home
Haven't slept in my own bed since Sunday night. Walking into Jenai's room, sitting outside with Bethany ... things that make me feel Home. My philosophy on Home is something I think about a lot, something that has come up since I left and then came back, and is just a topic that I want to and need to reflect on. Ok, so, I know I have a home. The confusion about whether or not I do is gone. I have a physical home on Bushman Ave... but I also have Home feelings. I don't hate where I come from. I appreciate it just as I acknowledge that my whole life (no matter its downs) has made me who I am and I'm happy with who I am. But there is something to be said for being able to feel that level of comfort in different places that are not Bushman Ave. And I do believe it is a person's sense of self and who they are surrounded by that help nurture or destroy a Home feeling in any given place.


I didn't buy anything at the march today because I feel that, in my case, it would have been misdirected consumerism. One can argue that all the money goes towards a good cause and that "one" would be completely 100% correct. But I know that part of me wanted to pull out my wallet because I have a need for "stuff". And a sense of entitlement that I should have Stuff. I couldn't justify buying a patch, shirt, or jewelry no matter what the message. Yes, these are good ways to let people know where you stand and maybe start asking questions, but right now I could only feel OK buying books. Because while material items such as clothing, stickers, buttons, etc.. start conversations, it is more important to maintain them and be able to finish them in an informed and fair way.
I wonder if I would feel this way if I had more money or if I had not just come back from India where I realized that I might not have a lot by U.S. standards, but I have so much. And if I had not recently met people who didn't have any cute buttons, patches, bags, or t-shirts that advertised where they stood, but only had their education, Heart, and opinions.

this is all in progress, evolutionizing. I am in progress, reflecting, and changing. and that is beautiful. if it's messy, something that inspires epiphanies, confusing, thrilling, or scary ... it is still very beautiful.

My backpack is my room. I can fit multiple changes of clothes in it and my toothbrush. Wallet is in front zipper compartment. I saw a guy at the library two days ago who has the same pack and I wanted to strike up a conversation, but, as Backpack Sightings usually go... he was walking away from me when I noticed. Out out out the door.

After being in PA, I can now add drinking in a public park to the very short list of illegal things I've done that don't matter because you're expected to anyway. I work very hard at fulfilling this status quo ... of white suburban girls who have gotten drunk before 21, done some pot, shop lifted some things, but none of them to any gross extent. Please, tell me if there's something I've missed. I have nothing else to do this summer.

Except ... except for going back to work, hopping on another air plane, hopping on some busses, and walking the walk instead of talking the talk of "Turning my room into a sanctuary instead of storage space".

Tomorrow I tackle the college and the WC. These are things... Well, I haven't done anything at all in the week that I've been back which closely resembles stuff I did before I left.

I am thankful to the people who "can imagine" what it's like. I am grateful for those who "know what it's like". I am seeing India Lauren tomorrow and I'm really excited. She definitely fits into the latter, but more specifically my latter. She and I can sit down and spit some stuff out that hasn't been said to anyone else. Or maybe hasn't been understood? I don't like that it's not a universal topic, but I relish the bond she and I can share because of that.

It is very cold in here and sitting in sunny spots in green parks was this gringa's dream come true.

I write about what I've eaten or who I've seen when I'm not feeling especially emotional, angry, sad, what have you. Then I am feeling Blank. And when I am those things... it's circles. Today I am everything. Name an emotion and I'll quote you the time of day I experienced it.

Saw a documentary for free and by accident yesterday. Courtesy of Isaac (friend of Rachel and Nora's), who we ran into on the sidewalk, hopped in the car and off we went. It is on the Ballet Russes.. A ballet company formed in the 1930's in Europe. Three young Russian girls were its main attraction. The first time girls under 14 were prima ballerinas. So interesting and hilarious because most of the performers were alive for interviews and there is nothing I love more than a 90 year old man talking about pirouettes and having footage of an old Russian woman flirting with him. Priceless... or free, since it was.


Tonight we're cooking for David before his thesis presentation. Someone a couple of weeks ago said "Oh and then the annoying stuff like buying groceries. We'll have to do that stuff when we go back." Hmm, I love buying groceries and making food. I'm excited since my culinary skills have only been extended to dethawing frozen spinach and pouring hot water on oatmeal.

My sleeping is so erratic. Woke up at 3:15 last night, made a phone call, and then went to bed at 4:30.. not because I was tired, but because Phil was exhausted. I'm very happy he's working at the WC this semester and next. The MOC position fits him well, from what I've heard and I really want to work on some ideas with him.. to the best of my ability. Went back to sleep because there was nothing else to do and here I am ... 10:30 a.m. and I've been awake for four hours already.

The Equality Ride that came to Eastern yesterday was interesting enough. Some guy from Repent America was handing out leaflets and a lot of people were arguing. Nora walked away saying "This is silly. I'm going to Wawa!" Wiser words were never spoken. Those people do not want to listen and the only possible outcome with one of them would be higher blood pressure. There is more to say, but my library time is running out.

Paoli, PA is nice... small town complete with its library, starbucks, little municipal building, apartment complexes, and tree lined streets with two-story family homes. Nice paved streets, sidewalks, and manufactured green everywhere. Everything is so compartmentalized, tidy, even, and orderly. What's that like? Cement and wires contrasting against a purposefully planted tree with three tulips in front of it. Just three.
I walked on the overpass to get to the library and imagined the jungles of Kerala. Saw the big leaves, flowers, rivers. Heard the birds and insects. Saw and heard it all while staring at a construction site.

I am staying with Rachel today and Nora tomorrow. Maybe ending up home on Thursday. Being around them is warm, insulated. They are family to me, closer than perhaps. The level of comfort and ease that envelopes me in their presence is so invigorating after being away from it for so long. Laughter and sincerity both come easy at their appropriate times. We know how to finish the other's sentences and we can all find refuge in comfortable silence when need be. It's something extraordinary that I can only fully appreciate now after having been without.
I don't want to leave and I don't want to be anywhere else.

Limbo. Neither here nor there. I'm out of the house and at Ramapo right now. And I miss my bed, wishing I was in those walls, but I was getting a headache there. I love her tremendously, but I just couldn't stay tonight. But I wish I was there.

I think I left her presents in India along with a couple of other things that can't fit into a suitcase.

Do you think people who come back want to leave right away because it's too uncomfortable being back? And by people, I might mean "me". But I don't think I want to leave completely. I just feel like I'm not here so I might as well be somewhere else.

If I had a little less restraint I would throw a tantrum, make impossible demands on people, stomp my feet, and give into every emotion pulsing through me. Like that scream I let out in Florida ten years ago. When I didn't know any better. When I hadn't been taught that "we don't behave that way."
But that night.. that night in Kerala when those students performed the tribal dances and something ancient floated up from the floor and rained down from the ceiling .. catching us in the middle. So we danced, we flailed, sang, and let go. That happened, I was there. Does it happen here? Can I bring it home?

It stopped raining today. Just the grey clouds are left over hanging over the sky, to the left of my yard. Contrasting against the purple flowers and the one lone tulip growing by the sidewalk.

Saw Phil last night. He came around 6:30. I had my black pea coat on and a red nose.
We went to Whole Foods and I surpised Jill at work. Some chick asked me if India was fun. Yea, it was fun.
Tried to find Quiznos so I could get an awesome sandwich (I've wanted an awesome sandwich for so long), but Quiznos is no more and so we went buffet-ing at Whole Foods. I had Meditteranean Tofu, mushrooms, bean salad, multi grain tabouli, four stuffed grape leaves which were marvelous. I gave Jill her present and she liked it very much. Jill gave me a little bag of granola. Cranberry, I think.

Mom turned the heat on for me last night and when I got back and off the phone, we talked about India for a little. It wasn't so bad, I told her about the food we ate and some of the stuff I've done.

She said she couldn't understand what I'm going through right now, but "It's so strange to look at you and know you've been in a different country and have done so many things."
Maybe she's getting it.

Went to bed at 11:15, woke up at 4:30, woke up again at 8:30. And I took a nap for an hour and a half yesterday.

It's easier to write this way.

Did I just see two snow flurries outside?


I hate this.

Give me clear skies and stifling heat that gives way to starry skies and cool nights.

Written on 4.21.06

I just got back to the sates. Even more recently, I just got back to Haledon.
Books on Jesus H. Christ and helping yourself still dominate the dining room. Book cases add some organization to the chaos that is the living room (they're a recent addition). There are bread crumbs in the Smart Beat, and that container of mustard from god knows when is still taking up space in the fridge -second shelf up in the door.
Have I really been gone for four months or did I just wake up from an intense R.E.M. with only the absence of my partner and the hole in my nose transferring from dream to reality???

I've had short outbursts today. 1.Making a left onto 202 from campus (the weather and scenery mimicking the those of the Fall and Sunday morningss) 2. looking through text messages on my phone 3. Finding pictures from the Fall (that one was like a little yelp, gulp, and shutting of the eyes)
All of these lasted less than thirty seconds and were stifled as fast as they started.


today
*
Some things are not going to change for awhile and I don't want most of them to anyhow. I took off the top of a body wash container this morning, filled it up with water, and put it in the toilet instead of flushing it. The whole "if it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down" applies to the last four months of my life. It made an impression on me, how many resources we use here, how little everyone else uses comparatively, and the price the latter are paying for the former's excessiveness.
There was a piece on NPR this morning about how Bangladesh might disappear in the next thirty years because of global warming. A villager who was interviewed sounded indignant and outraged because they are paying the price for the "developed" countries' wastefulness. And they are. And he's right. It's not fair.
I haven't taken a shower yet because I haven't taken one in four months. Just twice in Hampi, but other than that, I've been using the bucket method and I look at my tub and don't know what to do with it or myself. Mm Hampi was an exception though because the shower head was mounted on the side of a large boulder and the area was closed in by a wall of bamboo on the left and rock ledges on the right. I didn't even know we had a shower head in our room until three weeks after we moved in. Didn't even occur to me to look up.
Little things like these are examples of habits I've picked up and am unwilling to put down. Don't waste water. Don't waste food. Walk barefoot when you can.
And I'm putting off using my washing machine for as long as possible. I think I can do it ...
because I have lived in the same four or five shirts for the past four months and coming home, I am overwhelmed by my wardrobe. How could I have ever thought I had too little? I have so much! Little by little I am chipping away at it.


It feels ... it feels as if life has been on pause. Things are the same. The sound of mom's eyeglasses case being opened and shut still signals her waking and coming into the kitchen; Mom still looks at the mail while I'm talking to her; she still asks irrelevant questions at inopportune times.
For example, I am telling her about when I got my nose pierced, the look of the road, the man who did it, how I felt, etc.. I finish and she looks at me. "Aren't you hot in those pajamas?" She leaves me speechless in the worst possible way.

I thought she'd explode when she saw me, but it was quite the opposite. You would have thought I've been just 20 minutes away as usual.. at school... one hug, start opening the mail, start telling the junk mail to send Her money instead of asking it. Ask me when I'm going to start working, tell me her position in Hawthorne was eliminated.
Two jobs down, two to go.

I go into my room and, thanks, I'm ready to cry a little bit. Everything is the same as four months ago except for the weather.

Rachel and I went to Arabica last night. I had a medium spiced chai with soy milk and a small white tea. I was tempted by a slice of apple cinnamon bread, and was put off by the fact that they're selling rice cakes for fifty cents each. Gave Rachel her presents (three bags of loose Indian tea, handmade notebook made by women involved in an income generating road on Kanakapura road), she liked them very much. Sat outside before we got too cold and then sat inside. Me: Big Couch by the window, nearest the counter. Her: Stuffed armchair to my left. Music: Irish folk songs. I asked them to sing Molly Malone because it reminded me of how Jim would never stop singing that and how awful it was.
Met someone who knows both Craig and D. He paid for our second cup of tea and picked my brain about India. I was pretty reluctant.. not because I don't want to talk about it (wait, that might be part of it .. anything could be), but I do not faith in my ability to articulate/get across my thoughts on the matter with someone who I haven't been around for four months. The question running through my brain was "How can I communicate something I haven't had to in so long? How can I let this person understand?" The answer is To the best of my abilities, because I can ask nothing more of my brain right now. Midway into it, I just got tired and we moved on to another subject.
We've met so many people at Arabica, both of us so used to it, that neither of us were put off by him. With the predictable "Do you mind if I sit here?" the three of us settled into conversation, communication. New friend, couldn't hurt.. even though I am still not sure if I agreed or disagreed with most of what he was saying.
Got back at 1:15 a.m.

I woke up at 6:30 this morning. This is going to happen for awhile before my body adjusts to the time change. This happened when I went to India. For the first month and a half I could not sleep past 7:30. I am a reluctant morning person, someone who would much rather sleep until 11, but I am forced into productivity when I wake before dawn.
So I am cleaning my room. Ripping it apart and throwing it out. Saving only articles, pieces of paper I've scribbled on (there is a drawback to being a sporadic writer) and books that I might read eventually. I'm sure I committed some literary sin by putting Emma by Jane Austen in the Give Away pile. I just can't stand reading her.

I found a Marble Notebook from Freshman year of highschool. My journal from Honors English taught by Mr. Parent, a man who became my mentor for two years and then disappeared into another school system and county.
There aren't any dates on most of the entries, but just answers to journal prompts

September 3, 1999
My goal for this school year, being my first, is to work to my fullest potential. It is very to me that I thrive (academically speaking) in this school. Junior high seems long gone, and I am hoping I will have a successful new start in M.R.H.S. I would like very much to get all A's. I suppose that is what my goal comes down to in the end. This is going to take patience and hard work, of course. With the aide of my mom cutting off my phone time during the week, I'm sure I'll be fine.

What is your worst fear?
Another thing (I've left out the first paragraph) that scares the hell out of me is if my mom dies. Where would I go? My dad lives in Florida with his wife and son. They already have a family

Who was your first crush?
I think I was three. His name was Johnathan, or was it Adam? I honestly can't remember!

What do you think is the greatest invention ever made?
The pencil is the greatest invention ever made because it lets you erase mistakes.

Nothing can be worse than....
Dying when you haven't made an impression on the world and no one knows who you were.

I read through this and I have to smile. 14 year old Katie Brown amuses me completely. Such an odd, intense, serious, sarcastic little girl. And who is she now and is how far she's come successfully obvious and .. what's the distance in miles?

I also found a poem written for me. Some pictures taken of me. A star purchased for me..

I asked her
[her lip quivering in the crisp air]
if she would remember me
{me not quite being as developed as one would wish,
The mind of a grandfather
Body of a father
Yet able to be brushed from her eyes
(How I still yearn for them, like precious gems glimmering in the moon's smile)
as though only a down feather on
a patio of a suburban home.}
she answered.


It's 9:30 a.m., raining, and freezing. I think my body is confused. It doesn't know what time it is, my brain has been confused about the days since I came back, and my skin is used to being drenched in sweat ... not walking around on feet with toes that are almost purple from the cold or grabbing at objects with hands that are stiff with chill.

I am going to go to ShopRite with mom if I don't chicken out in the next five minutes. It's raining and grey this Saturday morning. Wait, I've just decided to chicken out.
I am requesting a grapefruit.

Weekend Edition is on and I don't want to miss Wait Wait Don't Tell Me.

How to make the transition from writing aboutIndia to writing about home? I haven't been describing or living through "home" for the past four months.

The Flight.
Part of it.

Well, I threw out all my underwear in Frankfurt. I had washed them before leaving the ashram and they hadn't dried. Never being anyone to throw something out when I could just wash it, mend it, patch it... I didn't even think of just leaving them there like some of the others who were in my situation did. So I put them in a plastic ziploc and put some Baby Powder in there. And, no, I didn't know what I was doing or what I was doing it. It made perfect sense at the time.
I put the bag in my backpack so I could monitor the smell and state of the panties. I bit my lip nervously as we went through the Indian airport security and, my prayers were answered, I didn't have to be randomly searched.
But, Frankfurt, .. oh in Frankfurt.
I had to give up. Seven pairs gone gone. And I am left with only two to my name. This is good because who doesn't love buying new underwear, but problematic because I had been hoping to avoid any shopping establishment like the plague. So, I will just have to ignore them like .. "the annoying waitress".. someone you can kind of ignore, but has just come up to you anyway..like it or not.

-
I was treated like shit at the Indian airport by some dude in big sunglasses (why do people wear sunglasses inside??) at the security desk. The plane was almost finished boarding, I'm in line and I'm told I have to go get a security tag on my pack. Ok ok I go back to the glasses guy who also took my ticket from me ten minutes ago and was asking really acenine questions and making me late.
"I need a security tag"
"Ohhhh, you need a security tag, do you?"
"Yes, that's what I just said"
-speaks about me in Kannada for five minutes-
-I leave and I'm one of the last people to board.

Part of it:
Big Jyamma gave me four of her red bangles and told me to call on April 27th. I don't know what we will say to eachother, but, of course, haven't you learned there's more to communication than that?
I put 100 rps in Roukema's hand for Cheche
Lakama poured sugar into my mouth and I don't know.. I am telling myself because she thinks I'm sweet... or, the kitchen ladies just love literally shoving food in my mouth. Big Jyamma called me a chicken the other day, I might need fattening up...
On the way to the airport I chair danced with Malika and relieved some gas that no one knew about because the windows were down and it was so loud. That's about as ceremonious as that was...
At the airport Aravind cried, said nice things to me, and told me he can get me a job. And he really could. And one day I might experience India.. and not in a sheltered way .. (that should be another entry.. so, moving on)..
I gave Manjula a present and a card and she cried.
Sidhram squeezed my hand so hard when he was shaking it goodbye.
I finished all my papers.
When it was time, I turned my back and just walked away. My brain "left, right, left, right. Okay, put the suitcase on the conveyor belt. Yes, let that man help you because it's so heavy. Oh, there's Malika, catch up... left right left"

I didn't cry.

I still haven't cried.

In Frankfurt I had a good discussion with myself (back and forth back and forth-walking around trying to kill five hours) about the rules for "legitimacy". The guidelines people have set up for themselves so that they can judge how upset someone really is. It would seem as if I'm not upset at all. As if I've just been dropped back into my life here.
Jenai picked me up. First order of business was getting a Greek Salad and chocolate milk shake. Went to see Bethany at AB&G. Had beer. Went to sleep. Had good conversations in between about all the stuff I've missed and love having conversations about ..
I did all that. I was back in Allendale and I didn't get upset once. Well, maybe when that waitress started talking to me about India because "her girlfriend in college went on some all around the world semester program and she loooved India". That sucked a lot. Especially when she said
"Would you say it's dirtier there?"
My face was twisting up and I could see Jenai laughing because she knew this is EXACTLY what I don't want. I just told the woman that because we're so used to America's way of doing things, we would judge other people easily.. something like that. And she said "Yea I guess we're a little excessive (in reference to cleanlines)." There is no language for the words I wanted to say at that moment.

So, the point is I did all that. I had an awesome homecoming, a calm one, a homecoming made easy because of Jenai and Bethany. And I didn't cry and I'm typing this in a dorm room on campus and outside there were people playing frisbee last night, and -shit- here I am. I can't tell which one feels like a dream.. Am I in India dreaming about Jersey? or am I in Jersey and India feels like it was all a dream?

how I've dealt with being back so far does not include.. seeing Mother, stepping foot in my room, unpacking, being alone. I haven't been alone since I got back. not once. Not for one minute. And that's scary enough to make me tear up a little.

Finishing up some papers.
Tried to make the WNYC live stream work
Of course it didn't
But the introduction did
"WNYC live audio is supported by ..."
A message with a 13 seconds blissful duration
My heart skipped a beat and if my jaw hadn't dropped, I would have smiled '
But, yea that was all that worked.

and here's the contrast. here's the other side of "how are you doing" The part that doesn't have to do with me being anxious to reintroduce things that I love back into my life.

We had a ceremony today that included the staff
Last night was sans staff
Sid talked about Cheche living here and how great that is. on and on
I had to pee and left without bothering to ask him why she isn't living here anymore
I was told last week anyway, No room. New worker. She's in the village.
I'm giving Roukema money for her
Roukema wiped away my tears
Jyamma leaned next to me and said "Going? Bedda bedda, Kate"
.I'm choking.


There is an itch.. the "predictably metaphorical in this context" kind of itch..
And it makes my fingers work a little harder on the key board
My heels pound on the earth with more purpose
I'm just in a state of "go"
Get ready or you'll get left behind, Kate.

Sitting on the veranda outside the computer room... Green is everywhere, birds are
everywhere, and so is the sense of calm that seeps out of every crack in the
pavement/walls or petal and leaf of each plant. I have to leave tomorrow, Mia. I have to
leave tomorrow at ten o'clock at night, drive into Bangalore one last time - bracing
myself against the bumpy roads that my body is so used to now, just settling into the
rhythmic jostling back and forth.

I need to see you when I get back.

Sorry I have not written recently.

Love,
Kate


*


I have to leave tomorrow. There's no choice or decision making .. no prolonging my stay. I have to leave. At ten p.m. Ten p.m. tomorrow .. a little more than 24 hours.

The screen is coming in and out of focus as I type.

I don't know why anything is important. I know that everything is important.

and what's racing through my mind and pulsing through my veins was unimaginable four months ago. It's so beautiful that it takes my breath away. I am lucky to be feeling this. I am only this sad because I have been touched and affected so deeply.

I am so thankful you'll be waiting there with a hug right now-

Kate



--
I don't know what I'm trying to get across here, or if there's any point. I'm just going to keep trying.. because right now it's overflowing.. a myriad and there is no way I can verbalize it so that it is one containable thing and that makes it stunning. that makes it Life. And I am so appreciative. It's easy to overflow here, but I cannot let it stick to my insides when I get home.

So, I'll keep trying.

ab·re·act: To release (repressed emotions) by acting out, as in words, behavior, or the imagination

.First, an example.

Hello Kate
How are you?

I was surfing on Myspace.com , came across your profile and
I stuck with it! It is Quite Impressive!
You are a Real Beautiful Girl!

I am interested in making Friendship with you!
Let me introduce myself: I am Sukhjinder,6',3" tall, cool, caring and loving Single guy.I believe in Humanity ,Peace, Sincerity! I hate violence and dishonest people.I am Saggitarian by Zodiac!
It was my Brief intro,if you want to know more about me,you can ask anything.

I hope for the Gracious Response! I am sure this Year will bring your Beautiful Friendship's Gift for me!

Thank you for reading my Profile!

With my Best Wishes!
Friendly Yours!
Sukhi



Dear Indian Men of Myspace,

It is with great regret that I must change my location back to New Jersey. I will never hear from any of you ever again. To answer some of your questions: I was here for school. Yes, I am a foreigner. No, I'd rather not call you.
All of you have been flattering and always good for a laugh. I am sorry that I was not able to take any of you seriously.


- Kate

Having a club in a mall is a ridiculous concept at 7 p.m. There's this guy behind our booth dancing with himself in the mirror. Taylor shimmies up to him at one point and runs away to the tune of "Oh you're good you're good niiice" following her.
She paid for my drink so I had one. Raps about New York City and city thug life are sending pulses through my body that make my ribs reverberate with the sound. I wonder how many people in this room have been to New York City. I think I hate this. I know I hate what's outside that door more .. a Mall that is full of plastic models showing off the latest styles and people clamoring to catch that sale or get to that movie or eat at that food court (you know, the one that plays Feliz Navidad in April). Maybe it's the same everywhere.
I had to answer an essay question in highschool that asked you to define the Human Condition. I am not so cynical to say that Club SOS in Bangalore's finest mall is it, but it proposes a good argument.
I spent over 9 hours in Bangalore on Easter Sunday and came out of it with some presents, an outfit, a nose piercing, a full belly, and confident that Commercial Street section is better than MG Road.
*

There are things to start when I get home. Things to stop and things to plan. A phone company to call and yell at.. which seems so mundane. Little bits of every day life coming back into play. It is the natural progression. Today Shanti came back for another group session, but this time it wasn't to see how we were all dealing with Indian culture, each other, etc. .. He talked about how our group is never going to be this same group again. That even if we ever did all manage to get together when we're in the states.. it'll be different. True. Very.
I have adapted myself to have mostly any social need met by these ten. If I know I need a good talking to, I go to Malika because she tells it like it is. Maybe I just need to joke around, well, that'd be Fidel. Some introspective/dry/friendly banter, Cindy hands down. Lauren was always down for talking about anything at all. And Taylor has just been good stuff all around.
I know my friends are at home waiting for me. I know now more than I ever did how much I love them. I feel like there will have to be some readjustment though. I've been relating to these people for four months in the way we've all discovered we need to be related to and now all my energy I put into that will be shifted.
Hmm, but shifted into what? Relationships that are as known to me as a favorite book or song? Songs that we get lost in and bop our heads along with. And we hum the tune easily, finishing a verse if the other is uncertain, and smile during the parts where we get to play air instruments. Doesn't sound so bad at all because it's not so bad at all.
It's just a shift. Which is a reality.

*

I hate the internet with a passion. I'm tired of committing my thoughts to text on a screen that pop up in emails, comments, ims to be interpreted any which way. I want to hear and touch. Two senses in need of dusting off, in this context. I hate screens that are pixel/text representations of the people I want to hold. I don't like asking "Hey did you ge that IM" when that one IM could make or break a "conversation". I hate asking "wait, did you mean blah blah when you said blah blah? because some things don't translate well over the internet, you know. Har dee har har" I hate things not translating well. I don't like that I can't call anyone reading this right now and tell them what I'm writing instead of typing it.
Fair enough, it's made me have to push myself to find different ways of communicating how I am. Picking my words a little more carefully. But I still don't think it's an ideal way to train people to engage in conversation.

*
So Home. Challenge about going back that is not related to the physical geography or cultural mindset of the place...
Take what I learn from here and apply it to my life there. Try not to lose it and remember how hard I had to work to attain this sense of peace/self/balance/confidence. It's fledgling yet and maybe fragile. Every day there are situations where I have to keep at it, practice, nurture. Don't over analyze. Don't overreact. Don't make myself sick over things which will work themselves out. Those are my achievements..
I can't get sucked back into old ways of thinking where I don't even factor in to the decision making or honestly believe I will fall apart if I have to stand alone. Which makes not standing alone so much more beautiful. Where I am coming from: Love that has always been there, of course, but now it is not tainted by fear. No, that's been replaced by faith in Life, What's Best, What's Happy, What Will Be.


*
Rest assured there are many things throughout the day that I think would be good choices to write down here.

But then it's 3 a.m., I've been staring at this screen for an indeterminable amount of hours and just have those Late Night thoughts running through my head. The ones you don't pay attention to in the day, the feeling you get in your brain and body that alludes the consciousness during sunlight hours.

And they're not bad.

And they're not good.

It's just fatigue at this point.

My emotions are dictated by which song is playing and I'm just thankful I can let that happen and that I know all the words.

no, scratch that. too tired to say that and have it be true right now.

Ten kids sit around four tables put together.
We're tellign jokes, I'm singing songs, and all of us enjoy the moment.
Farewell Christophe, this pizza is for you. Make a toast and accept that people come in and out of your life at an alarming rate. Some staying longer and impacting more than others.

**


Swim swim swimming in the middle of the night with just moon to light the pool just right.
Hold hold holding my breath. Floating, drifting, sinking down like in death.
Cindy comes, picking me up and I'm weightless and fateless.
My only concern is if the scorpion we found will float over this way.
I'm not on this planet, I'm not in the Eastern hemisphere, I'm not in India ..

**



I want to get home just to get getting home over with
These days are killing me
Rajesh shakes his head and smiles. Yes, he's going to miss us.

**


I'm writing an email yesterday and that white screen is mocking me. The black text on sterile background. The words I'm writing not coming close to sending the hug I'm thinking of, the reassuring squeeze of the hand. A reason why I smile and laugh is in a cute little house in Oakland, New Jersey. I wish my arms were long enough, I wish my voice was big enough to cover the distance.

**


So, the oppressed must participate in and internalize their oppression. What have I accepted as healthy and normal that isn't? What attitudes and actions do I execute daily that only keep me where I am and don't question my position or improve it?

**


If my body were to split in two, a crack running down the left side making me a mummy to open gingerly .. only fog would spill out. A mass of emotions which can only lift me up or crush me completely, depending on the way the wind is blowing. Nothing is decipherable. There is no one thing I can pinpoint which makes me catch my breath while walking to the library or getting into the car. All of a sudden. The wind gets knocked out of me -my brain coming to a stop/drawing a blank- and I'm left choking on this fog; the accumulation of everything I am sensing, feeling, living.

I know where I am. I know where I'll be. I know where I love.


My heart is in all three


Making quite the geographical love geometry


Red dirt, asphalt, rice and beans

Big thing happening on my side of the globe (and about 45 minutes away) right now:

Rajkumar fans indulge in arson and violence
Bangalore, UNI:
Four buses were set on fire and several policemen and public were injured in stone throwing by angry crowds at the Sri Kanteerava Stadium where the body of Kannada Film Actor Rajkumar was kept for public view.

Police had a tough time controlling the mob as steady flow of mourners continued to overflow the sprawling stadium. Stray incidents of stone throwing were reported from various parts of the city. An angry mob vented its ire by attacking some policemen who tried to maintain law and order.

At the stadium repeated appeals made by sons of the departed actor to maintain peace fell on deaf ears as the mourners were anxious to have a glimpse at the actor. Over 30 tear gas shells were lobbed to control the mob which set fire on four buses parked outside the stadium.

Later the funeral procession started proceeding towards the state owned Sri Kanteerava Studios evenas thousands of mourners waited in vain to have a glimpse of the actor. The procession was likely to reach the studios by evening where final rites would be performed with full state honours.


**
The man did over 200 films and is seen as a god. Some of us were baffled, but when you don't have much who do you look up to? Who do you idolize?
All the shops in Bangalore are closed and Sidhram can't come back to the ashram from his village (He works in the kitchen, is so sweet, and makes excellent bread. He's home right now because he won a court settlement in a car accident case) because there is a bus strike going on too. I'm sad about this because I'm leaving so soon and I miss having him around in the kitchen, giving me six bananas (no joke) when you ask for one, and playing jokes on us at meals. -Offer you some lemon juice, yank it away, offer it again, give it to the person standing next to you. Say, No more left. Wait a minute, gets you the lemon juice.-

When you're hurt you heal others.
When you're in need you give.
Because of you I am living the most that I can live.

Oh, sweet darling girl
I'm so glad you found me.
Oh, sweet darling girl
Your power surrounds me.

Remember me, don't forget me,
I have something true.
My path is dark, my steps uncertain, unless I walk
With you.

Oh, sweet darling girl
I'm so glad you found me.
Oh, sweet darling girl
Your power surrounds me.

Your power...surrounds me.

You speak to me without speaking.
You touch so I can feel.
With your strength I am stronger, at last I know I'm real.

Oh, sweet darling girl
I'm so glad you found me.
Oh, sweet darling girl
Your power surrounds me.

Your power...Oh...

Whoa... sweet darling girl
I'm so glad you found me.
I'm so glad that you found me, yeah you did
And your power surrounds me.

Believer- Ben Kweller


If you were to have walked into the lab five minutes you would have found me mouthing these words with impressive intensity, doing a little chair dance, and if you were to ask me what I was doing... Dedicating my performance to the hours spent driving at night -to whichever destination- with Nora and Rachel and perfecting the art of playing Air Instruments.
And, this is how we go about completing 20 page papers.

Points raised and discussed during a dialogue on gender two weeks ago:

Women are not allowed to be angry and when they are they're being Emotional, a Drama Queen, Ridiculous.

Men do not articulate their feelings as well as women do because they are raised to be detached from them. Some sort of dependence on the woman to voice the man's emotions and to keep a level head may form. Ironic: depending on the woman to articulate his feelings, but labelling her Emotional when she speaks her own.

Men feel alienated by the Women's Movement and feel it is unfair that they are automatically pegged as sexual maniacs, self absorbed, assholes upon first meeting some feminists.

There is no Right feminism for everyone. Each woman has different needs and if I went in to the Ebony Women For Social Change weekly meeting and tried to impose my views on them instead of listening .. I would just be some loud mouth white woman who needs to sit her ass down.

In an effort to give women their space, some men might reduce theirs and there is some type of role reversal and the man loses his voice.

Balance is hard and sometimes we fall into our roles because they are comfortable and easy....

----

I wonder what it's like to be a man, to walk into a room full of men and not be on guard. I went with Taylor and John to the hospital tonight because Taylor wasn't feeling well. When we left she walked by some guy on a bike and he just turned his whole body and stared at her ass. When he turned around he got a nasty look in the eye from me. I checked as I walked past him and he was slouching on his motor bike.

I told Taylor I have been feeling small recently - low to the ground. She said she sees the opposite. I feel it sometimes ..mammoth and strong. I think I'm just tired.



For anyone who's reading this who has had to leave this place, Do you remember what it's like?

This is the story of your red right ankle
And how it came to meet your leg
And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled
And how the skin was softly shed

And how it whispered “Oh, adhere to me
For we are bound by symmetry
And whatever differences our lives have been
We together make a limb.”
This is the story of your red right ankle.

This is the story of your gypsy uncle
You never knew ‘cause he was dead
And how his face was carved and rift with wrinkles
In the picture in your head.

And remember how you found the key
To his hide-out in the Pyrenees
But you wanted to keep his secret safe
So you threw the key away.
This is the story of your gypsy uncle.

This is the story of the boys who loved you
Who love you now and loved you then
And some were sweet, some were cold and snuffed you
And some just laid around in bed.

Some had crumbled you straight to your knees
Did it cruel, did it tenderly
Some had crawled their way into your heart
To rend your ventricles apart
This is the story of the boys who loved you
This is the story of your red right ankle.
--Red Right Ankle -- Decemberists

Discovered this on a cd I have just now. I smiled a Seeing An Old Friend smile when it started - thinking of how long it's been since I've heard it and the feeling I got when I first heard the words and melody.
I am not an instrumental person, maybe somewhat of a musical person, either way .. I wear songs like worn in sweaters - listening with the initial sigh I let out as I let the soft fabric fall onto my back and around my hip bones. Contentment found in a flourescent lit room where I sit with a blank screen in front of me and a journal filled with theoretical jibberish next to me; not sure how one is going to transfer onto the other.

Sat in Sid's office today with Oamjie. They are on my left and right and I face the window - my skirt is tucked in the crease between my legs, I am sweating, waking up from a nap, recovering from a caffeine headache, and probably biting my lip. We are here to discuss my papers and the genius that has yet to be put on paper.
First one- good, but a little biased and obviously written by someone who had been in India for a small amount of weeks when she wrote it.
Second one- discussed two weeks ago, actually, and it needs a nudge here and there - then finito
Third one- Glorified journal paper which is very "Readable" and has a good "Style"
Fourth paper- Don't be a typical Western Feminist. Free write at first, add stuff in later. Take two showers a day and the heat won't bother you so much.

Heat. Heat that I will jump into green water tanks to get away from - brown bubbles following my kicking feet. [My bathing suit was Mom's back in the day and it has a nice Jane Fonda Does Aerobics feel to it. Bright green with thin purple lines making a diamond pattern.]
Heat that steals my appetite and gives it back in time for dinner.
Heat that taps me on the shoulder around 9 a.m. and by 1 p.m. is behind/on top/behind/beneath me.

Read this on Renee's journal tonight:
the anticipation of kate coming back and summer is killing me, i want dumpstering and piermont and the reservation

i can't help but smile and hope big hopes that she is right in her hoping, too.

The last part of my eleventh year, I was in Florida for two months. I remember me and Dad were driving down the road that led to his little condominium house with his big skinny wife inside of it. Things had been horrible there and I still feel a fisherman's knot inside my stomach when I think of it. But I was 11, didn't know how to articulate a thing and I told my Dad that I felt like screaming. He looked at me, his face illuminated by the dome light and there were black outlines of Spanish Moss against navy blue skies.. no stars. Without the inhibitions that I acquired later holding me back.. I let it out. Dad laughed because he didn't expect it and I let another one out.

Jog can be Fin because you have to make the J an I, the O an N, and the G an F.

Mens is Font when you make the E an F, the N an O, the M an N, and the S a T.

Those two sentences have an even amount of letters in them.

I've been trying switching words by just moving one letter forward or backwards instead of jumping many letters forward or backward. like Stead could be You're, but you'd have to go very far foward in the alphabet.

*~*

There are four girls in the room again whereas for a little while it was just two.

There are six women in the kitchen because I am number Six and I have been invited by Big Jyamma. "Kate! Kitchen? Ba, Ma!"

There are 11 people in the group and in two days there will be 10. Lauren will be the defecting member. Back home on a plane without the ten strangers she came with who are now the ten friends she is leaving.

~*~

This time one year ago I was dating a beautiful boy who was not much else and living in a room by myself. I was watching Law & Order marathons and filling and emptying my fridge in a day's time. I had longer hair and a shorter list of things I loved to do. I did not know how to finish a scarf and I did not understand self-acceptance. I would sit in a room once a week with a man who asked "How do you feel about that?" and I would spend the rest of the day trying to answer the question. I worked at the Women's Center, did not know I loved my bike, and acted as if my bubble was made of steel.

And when I rise,
let me rise,
like a bird,
joyfully.

And when I fall,
let me fall,
like a leaf,
gracefully.
Without regret.

-- A song taught to me by a beautiful soul named Helene

This is not about quality or quantity because this update will have neither...


So many things to write/think/talk about and I all I can think about is how I am covered in bug bites.

Now, instead of our main topics of conversation being 1.pooping 2. sex 3. food
a new subject has been added: Bug bites - how many we have, how big they are, how much they itch, how often we itch them, how we are getting bruises from hitting ourselves and eachother, how they wake us up at night (Bo is convinced they are all hovering around her trying to lift her up and bring her home to Sri Lanka)

Some are the size of dimes others are square shaped and growing bigger by the second.

Cindy and I beat eachother today, or at least that's what it probably looked like to the people meeting at Fireflies today. But no.. we were just unleashing holy war on all that is small and biting.


Retreat!

Cloudbursts

It rained all night in your sleep
and you did not hear it
except that something was washed away, and rebegun
without your knowing it.
Neither the film of sweat on your throat
nor hunger-
what is that world outside the window,
an electric light on a porch,
the inky movement of palm leaves,
and the street lights in a lane,
which your sleep throws a screen over?
And that other presence, seasonal, spontaneous,
you conjure up in your absence
beyond apprehension or memory
when you were least at one with yourself
and is gone by the time it is morning.

Amit Chaudhuri