A Girl Can Dream

There is this anxious feeling that I have become accustomed to nowadays. This terror incessantly pokes at my insides whenever I consider my future. I'm not alone in this, of course. Most young people in my collegiate position most likely will feel this at some point or another, whether or not they are majoring in the most desirable course that they know statistically will bring them success after graduation.

 I have chosen the life of a writer. A creative writer. In this day and age that profession seems a little... well... unprofitable in the aspect of economics. But I have been blessed with talents that really leave me no other choice than to pursue a career in some artistic form, whether that be music, writing or art itself. (That, is, unless I choose do go down some path doing something that doesn't come easily to me and that I don't necessarily enjoy. No, I refuse to choose something that I know will not bring me some sort of happiness even if that means possible financial struggles. Misery shall not haunt me.). With all this in mind I then have to consider: Why would God give me these talents if he did not want me to use them and use them for his glory? Worry strikes, though. Creative writing is hardly a lucrative profession. Singing? I mean, think about the industry. The media would eat you alive alone, not to mention the pressure. Art? Well, you're not that good. I mean maybe you could get better if you worked at it but even then, there's competition and you'd have to really stand out. But even if you did any of these things, the only people making the real money are the ones who have really made it and that's next to impossible. Come on! Get your head on straight! Don't be dumb! All this screaming in my ear, negative thoughts racing around my head, eating away at any hopes I once had... And then the voices quiet themselves and the noise fades away.  "But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you," (Matthew 6:33). Oh, me of little faith, how much more will my heavenly Father provide for me than for the birds of the air? So I cannot be anxious if I know I am in hot pursuit of the kingdom and the righteousness of the Lord.

No man knows the plans of the Lord before He wills it. So, what are we to do then, if we don't know what he wants us to do with our life? Well, first and foremost, seek after the kingdom of the Lord and his righteousness, as was said before. So, while thinking of a career path and a future for myself, I have to wonder, "What can I do for the kingdom of the Lord and how can I pursue righteousness? How can I bring glory to the Lord in all that I do?"

He has given me the tools, now I have to use them. I recognized at a young age how much I enjoyed writing and drawing and singing. Back then, I had selfish desires, I will admit, to use those talents to bring recognition and wealth to myself. I don't really feel that way anymore especially knowing that the Lord will give me exactly what I need and I don't have to worry if I am following him closely. He promises joy to those who draw near to him because he is joy. And who doesn't like to be joyful?

Considering all of these things, I have come to some conclusions about who I am and what my future may hold. One, I was born a writer, an artist and a vocal musician, whether or not I'm really brilliant in any of those fields. But, I do sometimes have to think of practicality, and with writing, well... I can use that anywhere. And my imagination is pretty colorful, if I do say so myself. That's also a blessing... most of the time. I know I have the basics down to be successful, but I have to keep working hard at it; I want to be the best that I know I can be.

Next year I am going to Biola University in La Mirada, CA which is not far from where I live now. I chose that school because I not only can major in English with an emphasis on Creative Writing, but I also am able to study theology because, well, it is the Bible Institute of Los Angeles and we are required to have a minor in Bible upon graduation. Of course, private schools tend to be expensive, so I have been completing my GE credits here at my local community college, which has been pretty great as far as community college life goes! I hope to get my degree in, at most, two years (but maybe two and a half.... Hey, it's a lot to do in two years, k?) So after about two years, I'm done, right?

No. Na uh. Not done. Nope.

I have been working at the St. Regis here in my hometown for a little over a month now. The wonderful thing about the Starwood Company (which is the overseer of St. Regis and many other luxury hotels) is that they are all about giving their employees opportunities to grow, learn and reach their potential... and they also have St. Regis' all over the globe.

If you had read some of my earlier posts, you would know that I went to Oxford, England last semester to study abroad. I really loved it. Like, it's almost an understatement saying that I simply loved it. It was life changing. And, oh hey, look at that! There's a St. Regis in London. Right next to Buckingham Palace. Okay. Stahp. This St. Regis is called The Lanesborough and what I am hoping to do is transfer over there. Knowing how expensive the UK can be to live in for a little ole American gal such as myself I think I might just take a year off and work full time exclusively where I'm at now to save up money. Once I have enough... well, Lanesborough here I come! Look out London! But, wait wait. What about all that hard work you did getting your bachelors? You're just going to go work hospitality now?

Again, No. Na uh. Not done. Nope.

While I was studying at Oxford and learning about the school and its history I was compelled to dream a dream and that dream was to get my graduate's degree from Oxford University. Now, I'm not saying that that dream is impossible, just not very plausible. I haven't the money to go to a school of that caliber, really, and living in the UK alone is crazy expensive. Okay, so maybe not Oxford Uni, but what about something actually in London, hmm?

About a week ago, I was having that anxious heart again, thinking about what I was to do after I graduated. And as all of this was swimming through my head, I had to break out ye old smartphone and search for graduate schools in London that offered MA's in Writing or Creative Writing or something along those lines. As I gleaned over some sites that gave pretty good analyses of the university programs offered I finally found one that really caught my eye.

If you know anything about universities in the UK, they tend to have an overarching university (such as Oxford University) and then have colleges that make up the university itself. For example, while I was at Oxford, we used the facilities of two different colleges, Lincoln and St. Hilda's, which were both part of Oxford University. Okay okay, so the point is, The University of London has a ton of different colleges with in it spread about the entirety of London. Only one I found has exactly what I was looking for and it's called Royal Holloway. And I figuratively DIED because... Well, look for yourself, first of all.

Founder's Building, Royal Holloway University of London

(photo taken from Google Images -- Sorry it's a little pixely :/ )

Ya, k, Hogwarts much? Anyways, this is the main campus. Now at Royal Holloway they have a MA for creative writing and different tracks to go on, such as Fiction, Poetry, Life Writing, etc. I personally would choose the Fiction track cause I wanna write books n' stuff. Contrary to what you may think, the load I would be taking on education wise is pretty minimal; classes are only held once or twice a week (Come at me Lanesborough. I shall work you to the fullest!) They are also held in Central London, whereas the above main campus is on the outskirts of the city in a little place called Surrey. (Shoutout to "The Holiday" with Kate Winslet. I wanna be you in that movie, Kate. Let me be you.) I would be there for two years, by choice (it's less expensive that way), and hopefully be working a salaried job rather than having a bi-weekly paycheck. I repeat, it takes crazy money to live in London, especially in the districts where both my school and work are located. Which brings me to my next point - Between The Lanesborough and my MA courses is only a few miles; They are literally ten minutes apart by public transit. If I can find myself a place smack dab in the middle of the two, it's five minutes to work and five minutes to school and I'm chillin. I'd have to get used to the Metro life, but that's the least of the changes I would be experiencing.

Alright, so that leaves me here: Two years in London and coming out with a MA in Creative Writing and a lot life lived. Now what?

Well I don't think I'm finished yet. What's also cool about Royal Holloway is that they offer a Creative Writing and Practice-based PhD. PhD. Yes, PhD. And it only takes one year. Imagine me coming out with a PhD in my field! Look out job market, I will write ALL OVER YOU with my new title. And from this there are many routes I could take and we'll see what happens. But what I do know is that I eventually want to get some teaching credentials and possibly be a professor at some swanky private school in Santa Barbara which I always wanted to go to but could never afford.... *cough*cough* And this PhD has me basically writing a book the whole time and in the end I turn in the finished work. Well there's one down! (And if you don't already know, I have been so inspired by C.S. Lewis' work with his Narnia books that I want to do just the same with mine. But instead of children's books I want to write them for young adults. That will be my work for the kingdom, among other things of course.)

So that leaves me three years at school in London with a book published and a lot of other stories to tell along side it. Hey, a girl can dream can't she? That's as far as my eyes can see, but God's plan could be completely different. I'm just taking what he's thrown at me and rolled with it and I am forever thankful. 

 Do Not Be Anxious - Matthew 6:25-34

Jesus

"Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?...Therefore do not be anxious, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.'" 

Poetry Hour: Entry 2: A Season

A Season

 

Her name and her face was a season

With a voice sweeter than honey in May

Her thoughts only revealed within reason

To the friends who became her warmth and stay

Her beauty trapped her outside of the veil

She couldn’t help the love that came

When grace brought forth its mercy tale

She sought solace in his holy name

But slowly her fire faded away

The forgiving flames flickered out

But still an ember promised to stay

Even with a heart smothered in doubt

She got up but she couldn’t walk

With happiness present before the fall

I guess her words were all just talk

I guess we didn’t know her at all

She always seemed to be too weak

With a face revealing underlying lies

And in every place she’d hide she’d seek

Finding nothing but lover's lusting eyes

Her innocence was lost with time

Growing up tangled in what she wove

The farther she stepped, the higher she climbed

And the deeper she fell, the lower she dove

She’ll be at the bottom before she looks up

Though it seems it can’t get worse than this

A savior remains with his blood filled cup

Revealing what she desires to dismiss

She’ll turn to the world and see she’s alone

With foolish fake friends flown distant

And all she’ll have is those of the bone

The bride’s body remains existent

And most of all she’ll still have “I’m”

Who sought her in the darkest of night

The lover whose love lasts longer than time

The one who changes her crimson to white

Poetry Hour: Entry 1: The Wolves

I've decided to post some of my poetry here. This is my first entry, but further entries will be listed under the heading "Poetry Hour," followed by the entry number and the poem title, if you so care to know.  

This is a poem I wrote last year for my creative writing class. Hope it simply devours you!

The Wolves

 

Hungry are the wolves

That watch me as they wait

Their eyes are feasting on my flesh

My body is the bait

 

Their minds are thirsty for

The blood that slips and drips

It’s down my bones, within my skin

They long to lick my lips

 

Born into what I am

They think me as a meal

But I pretend I cannot tell

They lust for me with zeal

 

How carefully I walk

Down the path they line

Breaths heavy and bellies aching

Their fingers graze my spine

 

Crack! cry my bones

As they break my solid form

Their minds are wild and savage

When their blood begins to warm

 
 

Hungry are the wolves

That watch me as they wait

Their eyes are feasting on my flesh

My body’s lost too late

December Daze

December is just around the corner. Yes, it's the last month of the year. 2013, you have been so kind to me in so many ways. I've had so many adventures that I will remember forever. It seemed that with each month of this year I was filled with something new and I realize how very blessed I was with that.
I think December will bring a lot of reflection. But there is one thing that I have to keep in check during this season which seems to pinch at my little heart every year.
If Valentine's Day has been dubbed Single Awareness Day, then I think December can also hold that name under it's belt as well... for the entire month. Single Awareness Month. Now this is a topic that is near and dear to my heart because, well, I've been single for the entirety of my life.
"Whoa, what? you're 20 and have never had a boyfriend?"

"Whoa, what? I'm 20 and have never been on a date, been kissed, held anyone's hand or had any degree of significant other? Man. That's weird. I'm weird."

 When I was in seventh grade an eighth grade boy I had just met found out that I, at thirteen, had never had a boyfriend and he found that to be incredibly strange. Well, look at me now, adolescent male! Free from any tarnish that could be given via romance! Single and loving it!

Well, maybe that's not totally true. With December telling me that another year has passed and still my love life remains stagnant, I take my time and my prayers and I think and talk about it. I recall my heart's desires even as a little girl. I remember being actually torn over a crush in kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN. And I still remember the feeling. I remember the sleepless naptimes. Yes, sleepless naptimes, where I would stare across the room at him, hoping that he would stare back. I was, what, 6 years old? Fourteen years later and I still often lie awake and think but this time on my bed and pillow rather than my Rollie Pollie. My imagination runs insatiably wild these days and sometimes I wish it would stop. Sometimes I wish my mind wasn't so prone to wander into surreal storylines that make my heart yearn for something that isn't there.
But this imagination of mine makes me who I am. If I didn't have these vivid pictures racing through my brain I don't think I could tell a story as good as I know I can. There also is an insightful sense that accompanies many years without someone so close to you. I stand back, above and beyond the noise, and listen and puzzle and assess and find out answers of my own from the lives of others.
Not to mention that if I had had someone there in the state that I was in in say, high school? then I don't believe I would be the person I am today. I realize now that, although I thought I was of both a strong mind and will, I was so very fragile back then; so very malleable. I'm sure I would have held back any part of me that I thought a boy would disapprove of so that we could be happy and I could have my romance. Now that's unhealthy.
It surprises me how well I have taken being so single for so long. I am incredibly content and I am full of joy. I know that this is Jesus' doing completely and totally. My goodness, I can scarcely think of what I would be like without him. I know I would be a mess. A total mess. My fragility would have been taken advantage of. If I were to be single right now in that other life, I think I'd be in hot pursuit of another man to hold during this snuggle season. I am so thankful for this savior of mine.
And it is out of this gratitude that I stay patient. Yes, I have been patient for quite some time but I refuse to settle for something or someone who isn't more than adequate to my (and His) set standards. I guess that might sound a little pretentious, but it is kind of a big deal if you think about it.
So I journey on. Another Christmas without someone to cuddle, another New Years without a midnight kiss; another year gone without a beau to call my own.

And I am so okay. Like, more than okay. I'm great. I am so blessed and loved that I for sure don't need anyone other than my gracious God. But I have a loving family, wonderful friends and a body of believers surrounding me and a future ahead of me. I do want, if I'm being totally honest, and maybe that's selfish of me, but it is how I feel. But, gosh, I certainly don't need.
And so I'll make my hot cocoa and my cookies with my ladies and I'll open the presents given to me by my family and loved ones on Christmas morning with no aversions. I'll write my poetry with colors filling my head, and I'll sing with the voice of someone full of dreams. I will live for now and for what is to come and look back only to learn from what has passed.
Imma do me. And Imma be happy.

it is at moments after I have dreamed

E.E. Cummings

it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

My Week with Marilyn

Normally people find term papers to be quite the bore. Normally people find a biography assignment to be tedious and uninteresting. Normally people find 560 pages of said biography to be daunting and just plain wrong. Normally. I think I've proven myself enough to say that I'm not very normal.
The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe by J. Randy Taraborrelli was my personal choice for our "American Influences" term paper for my history class. It was either her or Ernest Hemmingway. I was beat to punch for the famous writer and left with Marilyn.
It sounds like I didn't much care about the woman. That wouldn't be true. Sure, I never paid much mind to her, really. I'm no fanatic. I recognized her beauty and her permanent place in the entertainment hall of fame but that was mostly it. However, realizing the influence she still seemed to hold when I watched a recent Chanel No. 5 commercial, I thought it could be worth while to unveil what was behind those bedroom eyes and that platinum hair.

Chanel No. 5 Commercial feat. Marilyn Monroe:

 http://youtu.be/Wo8UtWiYiZI

 

I, of course, wasn't completely aloof when it came to Marilyn. Most know that she had a troublesome life as so many other stars of her day (and, I guess, of any day) had lived. She sparked my interest. Being the investigative spirit that I am I felt that flicker of curiosity; What made this "mortal goddess" who she was?

I found out not only who she was, where she came from, what she dealt with but also I learned a lot about myself, society and culture within the biography of her life.

photo by Milton Greene

 

She remains very misunderstood to this day. I was shocked by a post I saw on Facebook one day that was discussing Marilyn Monroe and her body image. The photo at the top of the post was of her, lying in bed, tangled in sheets, exposing much of her body to the camera. She was curvaceous; very curvaceous. I could only guess it was a photo taken during the years when she was at a normal, more healthy weight. She, indeed, was not fat, but rather quite voluptuous in the photo. And the comments were practically endless. The main point of the post was to show how Marilyn, known to be one of the most physically attractive women to have lived under the scrutiny of the public's judgmental eye, was not "skinny" or "boney" or "depraved looking" as we commonly assess the ideal female form today in the media. However, rather than the commentary being about how beautiful she was, even being so rounded, it focused much more on her sex life and how "overweight" she was. Commentators screamed "slut," "whore," "ugly," "fat," and how much they wouldn't "do" her. Of course there were some who still stuck to Miss Monroe's side, saying that she was beautiful no matter what, and no one could argue with that fact; or that even though times had changed both body types were still beautiful and every woman was different.

But what I saw to be a recurring theme was the complete underestimation of her for who she was. To probably 97% of the people (either for or against her) she was simply the blonde movie star sex symbol of the 50s who still seemed to be famous because of the way she looked and acted. They weren't even remotely concerned with the fact that the woman they were arguing over wasn't even real.

Norma Jean Baker was living inside the body of the figment and persona that was Marilyn Monroe. Norma Jean was a trembling little foster girl, with cobalt eyes and auburn hair, always searching for a place to belong and always struggling to keep the voices out of her head. She was constantly being suffocated by the pressure that Marilyn drove her under. She was always alive but barely. The two women battled for the rights to the same body. The world would see Marilyn: sex symbol, goddess of the screen. Norma Jean would take over behind the scenes, guzzling bottles of pills to muffle out the incessant noise in her hear and to make her mood match the smile her duel self always seemed to portray. Both women were struggling for existence, yet they both had different reasons to push on. One would survive for herself, the other would survive for the world. Both would crumble under the loss of a mind too overwhelmed. The beauty was never enough, the attention was never enough, the love was never enough, the fame was never enough; it was all utterly futile. She had dreamed from the start of a place to belong. She dreamed of being loved because she never really had much of it to begin with. 

 

Another photo by Milton Greene, May 1956

 

Having a mentally disabled mother and no true father, Norma Jean would seek acceptance anywhere she could find it. As a young girl she learned to utilize any asset she had to gain attention. It began with tantrums which didn't last too long (however, control over her emotions would always be a major factor in her life) and, when she realized that wasn't really working, soon it grew to deception and cunning. She realized she could use her beauty and mix in a learned charm to grab hold of people and make them listen; make them pay attention.  This would be the spark that would ignite the fire of a big dream. She watched Jean Harlow on the silver screen in wonder. She was locked in on her along with so many others. This one woman was seemingly loved by all. She wanted that. She craved that. She had to have that. 

So began a journey into stardom for Norma Jean, soon to be renamed Marilyn Monroe before signing with 20th Century Fox. The two women would work hard to earn respect in their field of work and would eventually gain it after a long period of time. The hindrances would seem to have no affect, yet little by little, Marilyn and Norma Jean would be eaten alive. 

Like the Facebook conversations that left my faith in humanity hanging by a string, society would take Marilyn as a surface player, making her who they wanted her to be, or never really understanding her. But, who's to say Marilyn wanted the world to know Norma? She had worked so hard at building up this creature of utter charm and physical divinity, why would she want anyone to know the feeble and frail being that existed underneath her skin? 

You cannot hide who you really are. You can make a mask and wear it all you want but no matter what you will always be the person you were born as. You can throw a sheet over yourself, beat that person to a pulp and leave them there to bleed in order to be someone you think people would much rather know but the truth is that who you are never really dies. 

We are human and we are imperfect and we are born as such. We lie, cheat, sin. We indulge, self-idolize, and blurr the lines. We are a depraved people. We are in need. We cannot find a perfect love that exists here on this earth that we think will save us from ourselves. We are frail, we are feeble, and frankly we are without any worldly hope. 

Norma Jean reassured me of the dire necessity of a savior. We can reach all we want, try to grasp at a perfection we cannot attain on our own but we are chained to a body that is sick. Sure, we can look like Marilyn on the outside. It's all fun, it's all happiness, it's all good. But the reality lies underneath and it is one we cannot escape. 

So I cling to Jesus. So I hold on to the hope that rests in him. So I make my choice to live for him because it is hardly any life at all when separated from him. He makes me whole, he makes me new. I find I have a reason to live. I'm seeing life through unveiled eyes. I run this race, heaven bound. Nobody said it'd be easy, but He said it would be worth it.

I can only hope that when people look at me they'll see someone different. Not a Marilyn Monroe different; not someone whose body and appeal is adored. My body is simply a vessel for my soul; a soul which I pray will only radiate with the redeemer's love. And people will judge me. And they can call me names. It won't really matter in the end what people say, though. The only opinion I want to care about is God's. And yes, I'll get caught up in all the hubbub. It's hard not to. And I, myself, can never be perfect in the sight of God and I will make mistakes and I will falter. But I will always know that I am covered in the blood of the spotless lamb so that through him I am made holy and blameless. What a merciful love, what a merciful God, who would die for me while I was sinning against him. I can breathe. I can smile. I can look forward and beyond because I know that I do belong. My heart rests in that; my joy rests in Him.

The Mask

Charles Baudelaire 

 

Let us gaze at this gem of Florentine beauty;

In the undulation of this brawny body

Those divine sisters, Gracefulness and Strength, abound.

This woman, a truly miraculous marble,

Adorably slender, divinely robust,

Is made to be enthroned upon sumptuous beds

And to charm the leisure of a Pope or a Prince.
 

— And see that smile, voluptuous and delicate,

Where self-conceit displays its ecstasy;

That sly, lingering look, mocking and languorous;

That dainty face, framed in a veil of gauze,

Whose every feature says, with a triumphant air:

"Pleasure calls me and Love gives me a crown!"

To that being endowed with so much majesty

See what exciting charm is lent by prettiness!

Let us draw near, and walk around its loveliness.
 

O blasphemy of art! Fatal surprise!

That exquisite body, that promise of delight,

At the top turns into a two-headed monster!
 

Why no! it's but a mask, a lying ornament,

That visage enlivened by a dainty grimace,

And look, here is, atrociously shriveled,

The real, true head, the sincere countenance

Reversed and hidden by the lying face.

Poor glamorous beauty! the magnificent stream

Of your tears flows into my anguished heart;

Your falsehood makes me drunk and my soul slakes its thirst

At the flood from your eyes, which Suffering causes!
 

— But why is she weeping? She, the perfect beauty,

Who could put at her feet the conquered human race,

What secret malady gnaws at those sturdy flanks?
 

— She is weeping, fool, because she has lived!

And because she lives! But what she deplores

Most, what makes her shudder down to her knees,

Is that tomorrow, alas! she will still have to live!

Tomorrow, after tomorrow, always! — like us!

 

Failure

Well, here I am again. It's been months since I've written and of course that's my own fault. I could give excuses, but none of them would be good. I do intend on writing about my trip in Europe, but I would need pictures for that now wouldn't I? Problem is I haven't gotten the flashdrive to transport all my lovely little photographs from my disheveled mess of a laptop onto my new Windows Surface or onto my Desktop here at home. Alas, I have failed. But! It will happen. I can't say quite when but IT WILL.
In other news, I do have some pictures from a recent road trip to San Francisco that I can post and tell you a little bit about. I traveled with a couple of my friends, one of which has been closer to me lately and the other three were made better friends over the course of the journey. In just three days I learned a lot not only about myself but about other people. San Francisco is a city full of eclectic human beings all proud to have a voice and proud to exclaim it loudly. We left on October 30 with the main goal of seeing The Flaming Lips in concert along with White Denim and Tame Impala on Halloween night. In all honesty, I don't listen to any one of those bands but I was invited spontaneously and reacted as such; I just came for the party.
We were a curious band of weirdos: I was dressed as Lumpy Space Princess from Cartoon Network's Adventure Time, my friend Nicole was dressed as Andy Warhol, her boyfriend Alec as Wayne Coyne, lead singer of The Flaming Lips, Maddy dressed as a creepy Salem witch and our buddy from our trip in Oxford, who came to California for a short visit, was dressed as a taco. We thought we'd look like total idiots but we were in San Francisco, people, and that meant that we certainly fit right in. The concert lasted about 4 hours and was basically just a giant Halloween party, everyone dressed to the nines in whatever they could think of; we were thoroughly impressed. When the concert let out and we were sufficiently mind blown from the amount of showmanship displayed, we were as hungry as you could have guessed and the only thing available for us was a small little Subway across from our hotel. We nommed so hard there was barely any room for breath beneath each incredible chomp. We slept very well that night.
Friday consisted of walking... lots... and lots... of walking. A little over two miles as the taxi driver who drove us back that night calculated. We rode the trolley, shopped a bit in the Fashion District and had a few appetizers at a restaurant on Pier 23, which would be followed up later with a Brazilian meal at a restaurant called Bossa Nova. The highlight for me for the day, one should assume, was visiting the Beat district. We perused City Lights Bookstore, which was built in 1953 and housed many a Beat Generation book. I marveled at Jack Kerouac's Big Sur and On The Road, noting how much I longed to visit and travel as he did. Amongst other things, I decided to purchase Billie Holiday's autobiography, Lady Sings the Blues. I was only able to read the first few pages, but within that short amount I had already discovered that, like the Marilyn Monroe biography I'm reading for my history class, Billie had a troublesome start and what interesting adventures were before her were for me to discover and for me to then take to heart. Later that night we would visit our friend from highschool, Allison, at UC Berkley. She gave us a lovely little tour of the campus and showed us the most ingenious ice cream cookie sandwich place called "Cream." We walked along Frat row, some of us trying to get into the parties there. Little did I know that these parties shut down around midnight and we weren't aloud in after then. We went back for a short while to Allison's apartment and gazed upon Berkley's city lights from her rooftop. Then we took a short trip to Allison's boyfriend's fraternity where he showed us his Australian Huntsman spider and her 200 babies. Yes, it was frightening, but because they were securely caged, I found them fascinatingly disturbing. We finally drove back to SF and plopped into bed relieving ourselves from the day's long toil, preparing ourselves for the 8 hour drive we would be taking the next day back to our little bubble called The OC.
The trip was only a few days but in that time I grew closer to some very interesting people. Although I grew to love them, I realized that the trip itself had drained me spiritually. No matter how beautiful a person can be, if they don't know Jesus, it can bring you down in soulful sense. It's not like they meant to at all, but the lack of fellowship with other Christians and replacing that with things purely of the world can saturate you in a sinful desire and it is that much harder to keep away from it. It's exhausting, really. I realized how grateful I was for my church family and my wonderful brothers and sisters in Christ. I take them for granted.

 

Nicole, Alec and Adriana Lima

Alec in City Lights Bookstore

Yours Truly

Nicole and Maddy

Maddy is Art // Basement of City Lights

Wandering Bay Side

 Our side trip to Sausalito

 

 Nicole being Nicool

Accurate

That GGB

Nicole looking uber intellectual in City Lights' Poet's Chair

Toby in Sausalito

Toby in City Lights

Toby being Toby

 

 

“It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.”

 

- Jack Kerouac, On The Road

Negligence

I am the worst. Clearly. I am the total worst. Today is August 8th and my last post was in March. Who even am I? The trip ended over a month ago and my next semester of school here in the states is about to begin in twelve days and I haven't even spoken about all of the things that happened to me on the trip. Since this is my "Travel Blog" I might as well not mention much about the people and keep it more straight to the point on where I went, how I did it, what I did and what I liked and disliked along the way. I find that might be the most interesting and probably the most helpful. However I must say that I blame my procrastination partially on the fact that my laptop is now in literal shambles; the screen is completely detached from the keyboard and in order to use it I must prop it up on a pillow, on my lap and balance it while I do whatever needs to get done. (In this season's case, my Sims have been terribly neglected). However my problem is that since my laptop is such a hassle, my pictures have not been uploaded to a hard drive so I am not able to access my pictures (which I can assure you, there are many). Once I am able to show you my pictures, then my blogging shall truly begin. Until then I must leave you with only a few pictures to tide you over until I can get back to explaining them at another time.

 

Oxford

C.S. Lewis

 

It is well that there are palaces of peace
And discipline and dreaming and desire,
Lest we forget our heritage and cease
The Spirit’s work—to hunger and aspire:

Lest we forget that we were born divine,
Now tangled in red battle’s animal net,
Murder the work and lust the anodyne,
Pains of the beast ‘gainst bestial solace set.

But this shall never be: to us remains
One city that has nothing of the beast,
That was not built for gross, material gains,
Sharp, wolfish power or empire’s glutted feast.

We are not wholly brute. To us remains
A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams,
A place of visions and of loosening chains,
A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams.

She was not builded out of common stone
But out of all men’s yearning and all prayer
That she might live, eternally our own,
The Spirit’s stronghold—barred against despair.