Last Meeting

We met for the last time today. It was laborious, we both knew. We didn't weep over the small things. We talked about video games and we sat in silence. We played with little plastic cups for over half an hour, just looking at each other and giggling--the language barrier vanished in that childish moment. We had no need for words.

I looked at his face as he pretended to sleep for the last ten minutes of our tutoring session and had the sudden urge to take his picture. I had no camera, and knew the chance would never come up.

As we were leaving, he hesitated as if he wasn't ready to go. He opened his wallet and gave me 500 czk. After I put the money in my wallet, I pulled out my school ID and showed it to him. He smiled and laughed, then saw the more embarrassing photo behind it. Suddenly he doubled over in laughter. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of me, then took my ID, aiming his camera to take a picture of it. I snatched it back and said, "Jerk!' (He probably didn't know how to translate it). We gathered our things and walked out of the room.

He stopped me and showed me the picture he took of me. I smiled because I knew he had the same urge to need something to remember these past few months. The two of us met, every week, to talk about stupid things and English grammar. And in the end, though it was a part of our lives, we would have almost nothing to remember these short moments with.

As we left, he joked with the security guard in Czech. The guard started spoke to me in broken English. He put his hand on his heart and continued in Czech. I would be leaving him too, it seemed, with nothing concrete to remember him by.

How does one hold on to so many people? So many drops of water wanting to fall or just fade into the air.

Well

Studying abroad is:

"Oh, why, of course I can do whatever I want. Next year I'm moving to Berlin."

Going back to New York is:

"Shit, rent, work, subway fair hike?! school, boyfriend, I don't have any time!"

Coming home to Texas is:

"I just want to relax and stop moving."

Oh, Prague

Sunshowers? Beers and paddleboating on a river, flowing under a 14th century bridge?

Prague, you fox. You've finally caught me.

Obama

We stood in a large crowd. Three drunk Brazilians brought a chair to the entrance gate, expecting to get in. They yelled, "This is a joke, all these people came to see one black guy?" Girls wore bright blue Obama shirts. Many men with many cameras. Czech flags waved, as well as American ones. I heard British accents, German tones, and drunken Spanish. I saw ladies in evening dresses and men in tattered jeans. They played Jackie Wilson and Kanye West as we waited. Two Czech bands performed on banjos.


Obama came to Prague. He said words must mean something. He said we need to secure the next century. He stumbled over a few words. I saw him leave in the limousine, and could only tell it was him because when he leaned forward I saw the silhouette of his ear. Police sirens rang for the next half hour on the trip home. I was afraid at every sound.

"Please don't shoot him."

New Old Favorite Song

I was running around the park in Holešovice this afternoon, and an old Blink 182 song popped up on my Ipod. It instantly brought a smile to my face and a new rythm to my feet. I thought about being a stupid teenager, singing my heart out to these lyrics while jumping up and down ("dancing") and shaking my hips. I thought about all the silly mistakes I made, and all the little things that made me happy. I thought about how I enjoyed every moment of free choice I received.

Then I realized high school was 3 years ago. I'm getting older, not younger. This is the only time in my entire life that I will be 21 years old. The day I turned 21, I was sipping beers with strangers, and every single one of them told me about how they loved that age I was blossoming into. They told me, "Oh I'd give anything to be turning 21 again."

So why am I spending my time trying to act like I'm 30 by writing the best resume, getting all the bullshit internships, and scrambling to prepare myself for a secure, long-term job?

There are only 365 days of 21. That's it. Never again. I've wasted 97 of them. Well, maybe not wasted, but certainly taken for granted.

I want to be young. I want to be reckless. I want to stay up too late dancing. I want to meet weirdos. I want to get in trouble. I want to write for myself, and not for some editor's style. Not yet. Not at 21.

I see all of these young, budding journalists in my classes who've already done 3 internships. They've mindlessly lined up all sorts of 50 word clips. What are they working towards? Were those internships really beneficial to their minds or just their resumes? I'm almost disgusted by these types. Where is there character? What makes them stand out? Who are they outside that fucking piece of paper?

Blink 182 broke up in 2004. However, as of this year, they've decided to give music another chance. It's like they woke up in their beds, heard the same song I did flutter in their minds, and realize that no one escapes the fade into gray. They only have so long to feel alive and young, to play the music that makes them happy.

I think all of this reflection comes from running again. I've never felt so right as when I'm alone on an empty stretch of road with nothing but my thoughts and my music to guide me. (Oh how cliche!)

Ahoj!

American Imperialism

What have we learned from history, America? Eventually your "little brown brothers" don't want you around anymore and will fight for you to get out of their territory. The Middle East has spoken, step off! Stop supporting Israel.

Lack of Progress in Prague

So far this experience in the Czech Republic was exactly what I did and didn't need. No one said it'd be easy.

Here's a run down of my experiences:

+Living the dorm life and meeting future lifelong friends
+Endless new experiences
+Travel options (climbing Mt. Olympus, weekend trips to Budapest, etc)
+Fascinating discussions on human rights in sociology classes
+Learning German (discovered love of languages)
+Tutoring a young Czech boy in English
+Finding who I am again
+Working out, eating right
+Cheap food, cheap beer (learning to cook better because of fabulous suitemate)
-Not writing as I should
-Not yet reading as I should
-Jwriting is nothing without Michael Norman guiding me, all others are inadequate.
-Czech people are hard to get to know (no local friends yet)
-Missing my love
-My mom had an accident and might lose two of her fingers (I feel completely useless)
-New friends are fabulous, but not studious and it is affecting my work ethic
-Haven't significantly worked on my website
-Self-esteem issues in a country that values blond hair and European features

The most important things I have discovered are:
+/- Journalism may not be the field for me (prematurely jaded?)
+/- I want to live in Berlin for at least two years after graduation

It’s not that this place seems like home. There was a rush of relaxation when I swung open the door and faced the blank pale beige walls and hideous sticker-tiled floor. It wasn’t home because it wasn’t that feeling of right, that feeling of sliding into a warm bed on a cool night. I was simply overtaken by a sudden blow of familiarity that disguised itself as comfort, and would later torment me into tears when I fully realized where I was.

I’m back in Brooklyn.

I’m all alone, as usual, trapped in these walls, as usual. Don’t get me wrong, I cherished living with Grayson and Emma’s a fine girl, they weren’t causing me this heavy unhappiness. It was the space, the physical boundaries, the limitations of the rooms I locked myself in every night. That was a realization too, that in locking out all the thieves, murderers, and gangsters, I succeeded in putting myself in a dungeon rather than limiting them to theirs.

I am living in this apartment, but at what cost? Three hundred and seventy-five dollars to know I can’t go out by myself when it gets dark. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars to be afraid of every man who walks past me hiding his face. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars to have no one to talk to or simply be silent with except for Grayson and Emma. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars to lose my mind with every turn of the lock.

Adding it up, the cost doesn’t seem worth it. I don’t want to live in a place I can’t live in. That’s what was so beautiful about home, about Texas. No matter what time it is, I can hop in my car and be somewhere new, see someone new. Sure I get scared and lock my door tight because I’m a naturally paranoid person, but I succeed in locking them out and not me in. There is a crucial difference. I can leave, and still lock them out by hopping in a car or meeting up with friends.

And this really isn’t anything like a home. I’ve thrown the word out there a few times to make Grayson happy, but this isn’t home. He reminds me of it. I’m temporary. I’m a traveler. I’ll be gone in a week and won’t return for months. I don’t have a solid piece of ground to stand on.

But, then again, I can’t live my life in fear. I can’t just sit back and fall into what is comfortable. That’s no way to change. This has certainly been a learning experience.

Now suddenly it feels like there is a big, gaping hole in my stomach and I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything. I want to crawl into the dark of something, a shadow, whatever, and disappear.

I don’t view my mother as a mother. I don’t see her as separate to myself. She has become like a child, my child, a ball of emotions and faults that are within me. She’s something unchangeable.

Abandoned

I realize I've almost completely abandoned this blog. I'm working on getting my dotcom started. I'm also working on learning some Czech for the next four months. I hope to have my site up and running soon, so I probably won't be posting here again. Either way I'll keep you updated! (heh)