another week gone by, a friday evening i should be relaxing into. and instead, i find myself restless. not an unusual state for me – i’m frequently itchy, edgy for something new. but when i get that bug, man, it’s bad. i’m ready to crawl out of my skin. the craving for otherness is intense – i want to be something other, someplace other, anyplace other than here. i want to eat up music and books and culture, shovel them in with both hands. sate myself on experience. the hunger goes so deep i can feel my belly touching my spine.

i want to take off. start running and feel my lungs filling on the cold sharp air, my legs burning, run til exhaustion pulls me back to earth. run so i don’t want to run any more. my feet tingle with the anticipation.

this dissatisfaction is a hollowness i never seem to fill. my boy, my home, my life – i love them all, but nothing cures me of this restlessness. i can never predict the trigger. i’ll be listening to a new song, or reading a poem, only to find myself racing through to the end, skipping ahead in search of the next new thing, not pausing long enough to enjoy what’s before me – only hoping for something better around the corner. and that twitchiness settles into my spine. the fever flushes, making me hot and bothered and irritable with the general state of everything. dreams flood my brain, dreams of what i imagine i must be missing out on, places and things i’m suddenly desperate for because i *know* they must be better than where i am right now, and damn it, i’m missing out. dreams so real i can taste them.

the problem is, i can’t keep running forever. there is always another corner i can’t see round. nothing fills the space, because i’m constantly digging the hole. missing the here and now to chase an insubstantial dream only makes it that much deeper, and if i just tried a little harder to remain present, maybe the here and now would be enough. my boy, my home, my life should be enough for anyone. they should be enough for me.

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an old friend i’ve been out of touch for a long time recently asked me where i’m at, and where i’m going (and no, she’s never been one for light questions or easy answers). and i found that when you’re trying for a succinct explanation of who you are these days and how you arrived there, it’s easy to come across as pretty goofy. everything sounds so overly slick and pat. glib. like you actually knew what the hell you were doing when you decided to do a, b, and c, rather than groping blindly along trying to figure it out by feel. like you seriously considered options x, y, and z, weighed up the pros and cons, and decided on a course of action.

in reality, i jump into most decisions or experiences in my life with little or no thought. i’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants kind of girl, and have always followed my heart over my head. of course, putting that out there in words makes me sound pretty irresponsible. and i guess that i probably am. but thinking about it further, trying to make sense of my insensibility, i realise there’s really no other way i could do anything. i could try for caution and self-protection, but it just wouldn’t be me.

you see, inside i’m a scaredy-cat. i talk a good game, all bravado and bluster, but inside i’m stone cold with fear. so i learned long ago that the only way to overcome that knock-kneed quaking, the only way to overcome my natural inertia and paralysis in the face of change, was to not think about it. nike’s old slogan “just do it” became my motto. it’s the same principle as bungeeing off a bridge – if you think about the actual jumping, you’ll never ever do it.

it’s hardly an advisable way to make lifechanging decisions, but it sure beats the sinking regret of inaction. my own personal brand of self-exploration: scare yourself shitless and see what happens.

so whenever someone tries to tell me i am brave, i feel a bit of a fraud. i’m not brave – to me the word “brave” connotes courage, of which i have none. stupid impulsivity? that i have bucketloads of. fear of standing still? check. stubborness? to spare.

of course at times, there have been bright, flaming failures. when you leap into things with both feet together and eyes tightly shut, there are bound to be mistakes. but there have been beautiful successes as well – things i never would have been able to bring myself to do if i’d stopped to contemplate the potential consequences. places, loves, and experiences that i would have been far too scared to immerse myself in if i’d thought even a millisecond about being vulnerable. i live that way because i don’t know any other, even though by most people’s measure, doing without thinking would be considered foolhardy. moving far away, saying “yes”, telling someone you love them – all without caution, without agenda, without pretense of bravery. with only your heart and your fear and your faith.

my friend said she thought foolhardiness and love might be two sides of the same coin.

and, you know, i reckon she’s right.

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it’s not even the end of january, and as ridiculous as it is, spring is here. i know this because i smelled it on my run this morning. you know the smell of spring – it’s the smell of earth warming, trees stretching, the thin hint of fresh greenery sharp in your nose. it’s so recognisable you can almost feel the sea change, pinpoint the exact day the seasons turn. a visceral intuitive knowledge.

it is also probably the most important day of the year for me – it’s the day i know i’m safe once again from the clutches of the wintery depressive bleakness which tries to invade my brain every year. those clouds that seep in at the edges so stealthily i rarely realise it until i find myself choking up at greeting card commercials on television.

i haven’t ever written here about my depression before. no reason, really – it’s not something i’m ashamed of or try to hide. there have been some really black moments in my life – times when i needed professional help. the first, darkest time was my first year of university when i spent 6 months contemplating throwing myself out a window. it’s amazing how twisted your thoughts can become without even being aware if it. how easily your mind turns traitor against you, sabotaging any hope, killing off signs of light. i honestly didn’t realise how bad it was until i was (thank god) well on the other side of it. but looking back, i can see what a bad place i was in. i vowed never to allow myself to go there again.

and it really is like being in a different world. a different planet. it’s impossible to see reality. there’s a blackness that seeps into your thoughts, your soul, slowly creating a kind of tunnel vision until you can’t see anything but darkness all around, and you no longer even know which way is up because all you can feel is that you’re getting pulled further and further down by the undertow. your life doesn’t work anymore, doesn’t make sense anymore. and you struggle and struggle against it, the gravity of it which is the heaviest burden you’ve ever known, it’s utterly exhausting, and in spite of all the flailing you just keep slipping further and further away from the shore, from sanity, from anything that ever mattered to you until finally all you want is to be able to stop struggling.

if you’ve never experienced it, that description doesn’t even begin to do it justice. and if you’ve ever experienced it, that description doesn’t even begin to do it justice.

so yeah, i’ve had some pretty bad depression. and after that first time, i decided that i didn’t deserve to ever have to feel that way again. since then, i’ve gotten help when i needed it. luckily, it’s been few and far between. luckily, i learned my lesson that first time. luckily, there are drugs and therapy which work for me.

but the thing is, it’s always part of my history, part of my genes and brain. there’s a “strong familial tendency” towards depression that means i will always be predisposed to that slippery slope. it’s something i am, and will always have to be, ever vigilant about. a constant temperature-taking of my emotions, never letting my guard down. awareness is everything. i can never take for granted that it’s just “the blues”, or a bad week. i can never just allow myself the luxury of melancholy.

and so, i have a love/hate relationship with winter. the shorter days, the desire to hibernate. sleep more, socialise less – it’s all very dangerous for me. that sounds a bit melodramatic, i know, but it’s a truth with which i am intimately acquainted, and i’m just not willing to risk otherwise. so i count the days until the solstice, and tell myself it can only get better from there on out. i check my eyes for tears, check my heart for dark spots, stick to the straight and narrow and steer away from any ruts or ditches.

and i hold on for this day. spring. renewal and rebirth for more than just the flowers. i smell that smell and know it means i’ve made it through to the other side, and come out alive and well. that’s something i will be forever grateful for.

spring is here. and god it feels good.

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depression

I’m currently in the process of trying to format my “world tour blog” into a book of sorts, just to keep. It’s a slow process, not least because I find myself endlessly re-reading some of my favourite entries. It sometimes seems surreal that I was there, I did those things, I wrote those words. In retrospect, I feel as though I was a different person on that trip – someone I have often longed to be in my day to day existence, someone I was able to fleetingly allow myself to become, someone I was able to capture in my journals, however briefly. With no strictures, no obligations, no expectations, I was able to become the experiential, self-aware, intuitive, free spirit I always wanted to be. That may have been the biggest gift of our trip.

Every time I make a new friend, without fail, at some point early in the friendship they reveal that when we first met each other, they thought I didn’t like them. Always. For years now, people have told me this. Which is rather painful, actually – because almost invariably it’s someone who, upon first meeting, I thought was really cool or wanted to get to know better. So even if I really liked them or was excited to hang out with them, they experience the exact opposite. I’ve never been able to put my finger on why, and it’s a hard thing to know that I come across that harshly on first impression. And no matter how I try, I can’t seem to change it. My insides are not matching up with my outside.

Which is why I desperately wish that I could bottle that “travelling jen” that I am so nostalgic for now. I want to be able to always be that confident, that easy going, that adventurous. I’d always dreamed of feeling that free – I’m not sure what holds me back from expressing that in my day to day life. I remember feeling much freer, more “myself” in New York, which leads me to suspect that part of the difficulty is London itself. Part of it is probably age (what happened to that girl who dyed her hair blue and didn’t give a fuck?) But once again, there’s a disconnect happening on a fundamental level between my internal yearnings and how I live my actual life. I want authenticity. I want to reconnect. I want to live the way I feel.

I once wrote:

we watched “the motorcycle diaries”again tonight – the movie about che guevara’s seminal road trip through south america. i remember seeing it before, but i am struck by the difference now. i see flashes of familiar – places i’d only dreamt about when i last saw this, now mine in memory. these are parts of me that i get to keep. i have these, tucked away under my belt for reminiscing, tomorrow or a lifetime from now. when it is winter in london, i will always have summer in bangkok or spring in beijing.

these are parts of me i get to keep.

at the end of the film, che says “i am not the me i once was”. there is truth in that, i know. i am not the same me who dreamt of someday seeing machu picchu – i am now the girl who climbed the inca trail in the rain, saw dawn over the sun gate, bowed low to enter the temple of the condor. i have breathed the mist into my veins, felt the cool stone beneath fingertips, heard the echoes reverberate off the green peaks.

so i get it now, what this deep stirring ache is at the bottom of my heart. i recognise what these growing pains are. it’s clear to me what is happening.

it is not, as i originally thought, that i simply see the world differently. it is that i am different because of the world.

That is the real me. I need to find a way to let her be free.

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i am sitting on the train, reading the paper on the way home, engrossed in the latest jade goody saga.

“jen?”

i look up, and across from me is a thin blond woman who seems oddly familiar, but is not ringing any bells as I try to place her face.

“it’s lucy. from laos.”

…

we were on the slow boat down the mekong river in Laos, from Huay Xia to Luang Prabang – a two day journey, with an overnight stopover in the tiny flyspot village of pak beng. pak beng has exactly 3 rustic “hostels”, limited running water, and electricity only between the hours of 7-11. still, after 9 very long hours on an uncomfortable cargo boat, we were eager to explore, so we walked down to the dirt path by the river as light began to fall. as we walked past a brightly lit house with blaring, thumping american music, we saw a few other tourists from the boat inside, beckoning us in. turns out the party was actually a wedding reception for two young laos newlyweds in their late teens, and we spent the rest of the evening dancing to rap music, drinking the local moonshine, and chatting with a group of australian girls who were on their way to england after their holidays. in particular i spent some time talking to this girl lucy, who was a qualified occupational therapist, about the nhs and her tentative plans to move to london, giving her my email and telling her she should get in touch. we bonded in that way you do when you are travelers thrown together in a strange environment, and you’ve been drinking too much homemade grain alcohol, and the whole world is your friend.

…

and now here she was in front of me – holy shit. i am really bad with recognising people out of context, but as soon as she said “laos” it all came flooding back to me. turns out she lives just in clapham, of all places. so she filled me in on her experiences since moving here, and i told her about the rest of our travels. we engaged in small talk until we reached her tube stop. and then, she was gone. there was a brief moment where i thought about exchanging phone numbers… but then it passed. i think sometimes travel bonds don’t always survive the real world – and maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be.

the train pulled out of the station.

i went back to reading my paper.

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hillary is officially in it (as if there was ever any doubt!)

i have to admit having mixed feelings on this. on the one hand, i would desperately love to see a “madam president”, and believe that I will in my lifetime. on the other hand, i *can’t* just vote for a woman on principle – i’d have to actually believe in her platform. tokenism isn’t enough. as is always said of any minority looking to break historical barriers, you have to be twice as good as the majority representative you’re competing against. as smart and capable as she seems to be, i’m not sure hillary *is* twice as good. while i find myself agreeing with most of her policy ideas, i am also acutely aware of the significant step towards the centre which she has taken in her role as a senator trying to curry favour and keep her job. it smacks of sellout to me. i might still vote for her – but it would depend on who the alternative was. and i’m not sure you can win the presidency by “not losing” to the worse candidate.

but i think there are two much bigger reasons hillary won’t win the white house. the first is named barack obama. now, I don’t think obama is going to win either the democratic nomination *or* the presidency, but I do think he plays the role of spoiler in this race, siphoning just enough votes from the front runner to make things difficult.

the second reason? hillary just ain’t “likeable” – that ephemeral, but oh-so-necessary quality for appealling to the public at large. that certain je ne sais quoi or x factor, if you will, which *shouldn’t* matter in the polls, but which inevitably does. we americans like to elect people we think would be good next door neighbours, or who we find attractive or charismatic for whatever reason. it’s that charisma which barack obama has in spades, making him a serious contender in spite (or perhaps because) of the fact that very little is known about him. it’s why bush was elected (and re-elected) even in the face of some serious capability qualms. and it is precisely that ineffable quality which you either have or you don’t. you can become more well known, loosen up, try to be seen as more down-to-earth – but you can’t grow charisma, no matter how hard you try.

i think ultimately, that will be her downfall. as smart as she is (and she is), as capable as she would be (and she would be), i think in the end she’s doomed to the same fate as john kerry: an eminently qualified, “unlikeable” has-run. which is a shame really.

ah well, there’s always the next election.

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2008 presidential election, hillary clinton, barack obama

i’m not very typically feminine in a lot of ways: i don’t have lots of shoes, i hate shopping, i don’t wear much makeup. but i sure do love my perfume.

i’ve always loved perfume – as a kid i remember first buying some toxic green stuff from the drugstore called “emeraude”. when i would babysit i was always compelled to steal spritzes of perfume from the mother’s medicine cabinet. and when i finally earned enough money to buy the nicer stuff, my first signature scent was “calyx”, a lovely floral scent reminiscent of calla lillies. when that suddenly became very popular a few years later, i changed to “sunflowers”, a happy yellow perfume. soon enough i started smelling that in every elevator i got into, so i changed to the more sophisticated “l’eau de issey miyake”, and was very attached to that for a long time. eventually that caught on as well, so i changed to the more unique “marc jacobs”, and later, “flower” by kenzo. and in between all those, there was the “tobacco flower” perfume from the body shop that i adored until they discontinued it, a brief dalliance with “sugar” (which smelled exactly like sweet brown sugar), and an early twenties love affair with “sung”. my latest infatuation, which i bought on the ferry home from paris, is “parfum d’ete” by kenzo – in many ways, it reminds me a lot of my old “calyx” days. and when i look back on my fragrant history, it seems like i was always needing a new fragrance to match a new phase in my life – if i needed confidence during a low period, then i went for something bolder. if i was in a carefree, happy place then the scent was invariably something bubbly and uplifting. and when i was single, it was always something spicier, more overtly sexy.

and cologne on guys – i remember the smell of every guy i’ve ever dated, sometimes more clearly than i remember his face. “bowling green”, “fahrenheit”, and “onyx” are all imprinted on my brain from the time spent kissing their necks, just below the ear. mmm, delicious, almost primal memories attached to those . i’m a woman lead by her nose, and i love musky smells, while i cannot stand “soapy” smelling men’s colognes.

but what i love most about wearing perfume is the way a scent can make you feel, the way it can change or enhance your mood – lighthearted and airy, brisk and efficient, or seductive and intense. it’s the liquid equivalent of a handbag collection, or a trademark scarlet lipstick. my favourite perfumes are the ones that make me think of either crushed green leaves or gently warmed wine. something fresh and light, or something red and rich. and no matter what i happen to look like that morning, i always feel incredible for that moment that i first put on whatever perfume matches that day. i may *look* rumpled and sleepy, but i smell wonderful and summery and full of confidence. that’s the kind of feeling that just can’t be bottled.

or, maybe it can

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i don’t know exactly when i stopped believing in god – i only know that one day i suddenly noticed the absence in my life. and when i took a good look around, it turned out he’d been gone for a while.

i grew up nominally catholic. my mum (protestant) and my dad (catholic) dutifully took us to church every sunday, trying to inculcate in us the deep abiding faith that has both comforted and strengthened them throughout their own lives. our church was a real hippy-dippy church, rooted in activism and social causes and rejecting the more sexist tenets of the catholic doctrine. (i remember quite clearly that they used to have laywomen deliver the homily [shock! horror! that a woman might speak on the "word of god"!] until they got their knuckles rapped by the diocese.) so my initial grounding was a good one, and even if i never really believed all i was told, i never held it against them either. i never felt the need to rebel against a message i mostly agreed with. love one another. turn the other cheek. thou shalt not kill. to my mind, these were all the teachings of a wise man, worthy of veneration, even if his wisdom had been twisted to the purpose of the powerful throughout the centuries. j.c. as a profound philosopher who espoused kindness and tolerance? yes. son of god? not so much.

but even as an adult, i got something out of it. i attended church somewhat regularly when i lived in new york, not out of any sense of obligation or fear, but because i found it enjoyable. the tradition and ritual were soothing, calming and it was like turning over a fresh leaf every sunday. i would reflect on where i’d been less than kind, re-commit myself to try to be a better person in the coming week, and find encouragement in being part of a community of people who felt the same. i never felt brainwashed or sheep-like. it was a very rational kind of faith – in separating the myth from the message, i believed because i chose to. it was nice to imagine a “higher power”. it was nice to feel there was a purpose to life. it was nice to feel not-alone.

after i moved from nyc, however, i only attended church sporadically. never really found a place nearby that i liked, never really tried to. i got caught up in the crumbling of my first marriage for a long time, and my esteem took some hard knocks. and then september 11th happened. i remember going to a service shortly afterward, wanting to find some assurance and peace, and instead of feeling strengthened, i felt hollow. i was sending out prayers reflexively into the universe, and there was nothing in return. whoever i thought had been listening before, was gone. september 11th didn’t shake up my beliefs so much as point out they were no longer where i thought i’d left them.

and i’ve missed faith. missed that feeling of inner solidity – that unfailing sense of peace and certainty at the core of everything. the idea of grace and a benevolent force that carries us through when all else seems meaningless. it felt good. for a while i really wanted to still believe, but part of me always knew i was faking it.

and then lately i stumbled back over buddhism. i first came across it in university (where i once considered doing a major in religion) and for whatever reason, as intriguing as it was, it didn’t connect. but as i begin to explore it now, years later, i find there’s some small string of my heart resonating with what i read and hear. something inside me nodding quietly. no god – yes. impermanence of all things – yes. karma and dharma – yes and yes. finding an end to the desire and pain and harm which block kindess and compassion and equanimity. someone once explained it to me as a light which is obscured by a thick layer of dust – these things are already there within us, waiting to be revealed once the rest is cleared away. and i’m nodding. this is what i believe of people’s innate nature, this is my worldview. this makes sense to me, and it is something i can test empirically myself. i don’t need to filter out bits i don’t understand or pay lip service to something i don’t believe. buddhism is a religion of practice. and lord knows, practice is something i am good at.

so i’ve been reading and listening. trying to learn how to meditate – the fine art of sitting still and being still within. anyone who knows me will know how difficult i find that – i am many things, but calm and quiet and still are none of them. yet perhaps those are precisely the things that i need the most. and since they don’t come naturally to me, i’ve been trying to practice. it’s heartening to know that even monks must practice. i’m in good company.

i am a fledgling in this process, all wide-eyed naivete with more questions than answers. but for the first time in a long time, i am finding that center again. the strength at the core of me that was always there, but long covered in dust. i am practicing sitting. practicing being and accepting. practicing quieting down the fear and noise that get in the way of my life. working to find a path through the dust to the light.

after all, practice makes perfect.

———-

in other news, heading to paris for the weekend, so will update when i return. haven’t been there since the deportation debacle of 2003, so should be fun (if very wet)!

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another year gone – 2006 has been so amazing, that i’m sad to see it go. so many dreams came true, how can 2007 possibly live up to it?

i don’t do new year’s resolutions. instead, i write down those things which i wish to leave behind, and then burn them and let the ashes fly away with the breezes of the new year. i find it much more satisfying than a handful of half-kept promises recycled every 365 days.

still, there are things i want more of in the year to come. i don’t see these as goals, but rather as an open desire to invite these into my life through continuing to grow and change.

travel – lots more travel. that’s unlikely to happen in the next twelve months, but i want to plan and dream of new places yet unseen. there’s still so much more world out there.

friends – more time spent with more friends.

more writing. more creativity.

more running. i’d really love to do another marathon, if my knees will let me. but at least, continue with the running i’ve been doing. it makes me feel so much more alive.

more acceptance – more peace, more calm. more exploration of buddhism.

more family time. more visits.

more love. more love. always more love.

and if i can invite even a little more love into my life, 2007 will be a huge success, no matter what else happens.

wishing you and yours more love in the coming year…

jen

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i’ve been writing this blog for nearly three years now. and recently i had thoughts about chucking it all in.

i first started this little project shortly after i moved to london as a way to keep family and friends up to date on what my new life was like – i got tired of cutting and pasting emails about “i did this, i went here, the weather was like this, london is so whatever”. of course, my little hobby quickly evolved into much more than that. it soon became a repository for all my ex-pat musings, daily foibles, and funny experiences. it became a place for self-expression and creativity.

for a long time no one ever read it, but i kept it up anyway because i really enjoyed it. it made me think and write from a richer, deeper place. i invested something of myself in it, and eventually that investment took on a kind of life of its own – something i feel both responsible for and indebted to. so the thought of quitting after all this time is not an idea i toyed with lightly. unfortunately, one of the unexpected side effects of keeping a blog, something no one ever warns you about, is the detrimental effect it can have on real life relationships.

see, once upon a time, people used to email me. we’d have written conversations about everything from the political to the absurd. there was gossip and joking and exchange of ideas and long-distance therapy sessions. i still have those emails saved, and i wouldn’t delete them for anything. people may not write letters any longer, but they used to email me to tell me what was going on in their lives, and to ask how i was. those emails represented some of the best parts of friendship and love and thoughtfulness sent across the distance in a heartbeat. they were electronic love letters from family and friends afar, and they meant so very much to me.

and when they didn’t get a chance to email, people used to pick up the phone and call. just to hear a voice and chat as if we were still only a few miles away. to catch up on events, random life happenings, or things that just couldn’t wait. cheap calling plans and pre-paid cards made it easy to do on the spur of the moment, with only a second thought for the time difference. the kind of spontaneity and immediacy and casualness that writing just can’t convey. i could laugh and talk with people almost as if we were in the same room. it made me feel like i wasn’t alone over here – even when i was.

and people would visit or get together. make the effort to make the trip, carve out a small chunk of time. to see people in person, hug them, feel the solidity of caring behind the arms. there’s no substitute for that. there were plans to come see london and promises to make me play tourguide. there were promises that we see each other. once upon a time.

all that has changed now, and the only thing i can attribute it to is the blog. my virtual presence is seen as a shortcut for real life interaction. people think that because they read what i write, that they know what’s happening in my world. my posts are mistaken for what’s real in my daily life. and it gives people an excuse to cheat – put writing or calling at the bottom of the list of important things to do. to skimp on effort. it’s not done with malice i’m sure – but knowing it’s benign inattention doesn’t make it feel any better.

people make assumptions based on my blog. in truth, however, most of the important stuff of my life never gets written about. there are lots of things i won’t share with virtual strangers, and my innermost emotions are not for public consumption. my life, my *real life*, the things at the core of who i am, the things that are closest to my heart – they’re not open for discussion. not here. not ever.

i put a lot of stuff out there – but it’s basically a one way conversation. real relationships should never be that lopsided.

i created this blog to improve communication with my friends and family, and i couldn’t possibly make it any easier for people to keep in touch. but things are getting worse, not better. and so i’ve been tempted lately to cease and desist. i was going to post this before christmas and announce i was taking a break.

but recently a cousin i haven’t seen in years emailed me through my blog. we used to be close as kids, but as adults we’ve all drifted off into our own lives – and i’ve wondered where my extended family was and what they were doing nowadays. when she got in touch, it was so good to reconnect, even in a limited way, that it made me realise i might have missed that chance, if not for my blog.

so i’ll keep writing, keep putting stuff out there – if only for the chances i may otherwise miss.

but perhaps stop and see if you recognise any bit of yourself in what i’ve said here – if maybe you feel like things have become a bit imbalanced between us too. people are busy, i know. this post isn’t directed at any one person or group, and it’s not in response to any particular event. but for the new year, it’d be nice if more people took time to *write* to me, rather than just read me. a little more equitable give and take.

because relationships and blogs both take effort and time. but they should never be mistaken for each other.

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more than anything else, christmas makes me think of my mother.

all my best memories of christmas are intertwined with the love and effort she put into making the holiday special. a lot of that was because she loved it so much herself – and in an effort to prolong it, the christmas season in our household lasted nearly three months. the annual buildup began in october, with all the kids helping to make the giant batches of christmas pudding from a great-grandmother’s well-worn recipe. come december, there were international holidays to celebrate – like st. lucia’s day with the special saffron buns and the procession with candles, and st. nicholas’ day where we left out our shoes to be filled with chocolates and small toys. there was baking of misshapen sugar cookies for friends and neighbours. there was selecting the tree, and decorating it with years of accumulated ornaments – each one evoking a remembrance of a particular place or time, from our kindergarten years to adulthood. my mom remembered them all. there were the radio oldies which permeated the house for weeks on end from her favourite stations. there was skating on the snowy frogpond of the boston common under the lighted trees. there was carolling the wards in the hospital my dad worked at. there was wrapping hundreds of pairs of tube socks to distribute at the homeless shelter. there was piling in the car and driving around town to see the lights of the best bedecked houses. there were popcorn strings and colourful paper chains made to festoon the mantle. there were paper snowflakes and cherry winks and gingerbread houses. there were wreaths and mistletoe and pumpkin breads. but mostly there was my mother – decorating and baking and humming. always the scent of something in the oven. always my mother full of the joy of the season.

christmas eve was all about traditions. with my family’s multicultural heritage, my mom would cook a giant christmas eve smorgasboard with a dish representing each country – england, ireland, italy, yugoslavia, wales, scotland, portugal, puerto rico. after stuffing ourselves, we’d read “twas the night before christmas” together on the couch, and leave out cookies and milk for santa. when we were little and still believers in the magic, we’d lay awake in bed waiting to hear santa’s distinctive “ho ho ho” in the wee hours of the morning. when we were older, we’d go to midnight mass at our church and bring bundles of jingle bells to ring during the carol of the bells. my mother always turned to me during “the first noel” and told me it was my song. and during the mass there were inevitably old family friends who came up to me and wished me happy birthday, reminiscing about the year my mother was in labour with me during christmas eve. i felt both embarrassed and special for the attention.

and when christmas morning dawned, there were other traditions as well. officially, we were allowed to collect our stockings from the fireplace at 7 am. in reality, we snuck down the creaky stairs long before first light, muffling the bells sewn to the toes of the overstuffed stockings, clutching them to our chest until we were safely back upstairs. once my parents awoke, my mother warmed a loaf of freshly baked christmas bread and made some cocoa and we passed around one gift at a time, taking turns opening the presents. we paused to attend church services, and upon return my mother would put the turkey in the oven while we all opened the last few gifts – then immediately began arguing and fighting over them for the rest of the day.

evening was devoted to celebrating my birthday. after our big dinner, my mum always made a special “man’s cake” by my request (a yellow cake made with coffee and walnuts) and there were birthday presents and cards and singing. and my mum always waxed nostalgic about my birth, never failing to mention how i’d been born in a jewish hospital and never got to be wrapped in a stocking like the other christmas babies.

and long after christmas, my mother continued celebrating. we celebrated until ephiphany – the day the wise men finally arrived in nazareth, twelve days after christmas. the tree stayed up long into the new year, christmas goodies and puddings and eggnog were consumed for weeks. it was always with great reluctance that things were finally packed up and put away for next year. my mother hated to see it all come to an end.

and so when i think of christmas, i think of my mother – and i’m thinking of her now, with my tree lit, and carols playing in the background. i will think of her this evening when i’m at midnight mass, singing hymns and revelling in the profound peace that descends in the stillness of night. i will think of her, thinking of me – remembering her anticipation, the weight of labour and quickening amidst pealing bells and voices rising in harmony. the joy of the holiday mingling with her joy. the significance of the celebrated birth taking on new meaning for a new mother.

merry christmas, mum.

(and thanks for the birthday flowers!)

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it’s nearing the end of the year, and i always find it hard to reflect without becoming sappy and sentimental. so stumbling across this writing exercise at nicole’s blog (hope you don’t mind!), i decided to try it. it took me less than two minutes, but it’s probably the best end of year summary i could have ever written – there are no wasted words, no overwrought sentences, no extraneous adjectives.

saying a lot of nothing is easy. what matters is capturing the essence of what you will remember in years to come, when most of one year blurs into the next, when the sameness runs at the edges of a decade. but this was my 2006 – in 24 words.

sacrifice and wanting. giving up and gone. travelled the world and saw the horizon of dreams. new beginnings back in the same old place.

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mayfly project, year in review

on the way home this evening, i was reading an “article” (and i use that term loosely as was in one of those free giveaway rags from the tube station) on ethical christmas ideas (an idea which they clearly *stole* from me, since I wrote about that the other day for shortcut even though it hasn’t been posted yet) and one of the things they suggest is buying carbon exchanges in order to neutralise the carbon footprint christmas day leaves behind – the equivalent of 100kg.

I think my problem with the whole “carbon neutral” concept is that it feels like just a way to assuage the guilt of people who can (and should) live cleaner, but happen to have the resources to buy their way out of the doghouse. particularly where this is really only an option for people of some means – i mean, it’s all well and good to be able to do if you can afford it, but where does that leave people who’re already struggling? they’re the ones with the real dilemma, because they can’t afford the pricier “eco-friendly” products, they’re the least educated on the problem, and they’re the most affected by things like urban pollution and skyrocketing fuel/heating prices. To people who are privileged enough to be able to make this choice, I say either make the effort to consume/pollute less because you think it’s worth doing for its own merit, or don’t bother. it’s detracting public awareness from demanding more available solutions that can be taken up by everyone.

My other difficulty is that this kind of programme, whether for individuals or corporations, sends the wrong message to people in less developed countries about the imperative need to reduce fossil fuel usage and pollution. that somehow creating garbage/using resources doesn’t matter as long as you can plant enough trees or invest in other energy sources to “offset” the damage done. the problem with that, is *nothing* can undo the damage being done – trees can’t be planted fast enough to replenish coal/oil/gas. using solar energy does not pull emissions out of the air, or rubbish out of landfills. you can’t scar the earth doing one thing, then try to apply a bandaid by doing something completely different.

it’s a feel-good quick fix for people and companies who don’t want the inconvenience of doing something *real*, like changing one’s long-term habits – a much more uncomfortable prospect, but one with a much bigger impact. the carbon neutral lifestyle isn’t something you can just buy off a website.

and i can’t help but idly wonder how many “carbon exchanges” the disposable of the millions of all these free tube papers would require, or how much landfill space they take up. me: i’m recycling mine.

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environmentalism, footprint, emissions, carbon neutral

while running today, i was listening to this - president clinton’s speech to the “slate 60″ conference of the world’s top philanthropists.

i haven’t been able to find a transcript online, but the speech is a testament to why he was such a great president. he understands that our political problems and social issues of today occur within a global framework – one which is underestimated or ignored to our detriment. he points out that in a today’s post-9/11 world, it is cheaper and more effective to make more partners and fewer enemies. as he says, “in an interdependent environment, by definition, you cannot kill, jail, or occupy all your adversaries. doesn’t mean you should be naive and renounce security. it just means that security will never be enough.”

he speaks with the gravitas of someone who knows a little something about how the world works, and as a former president, he (obviously) does a lot of name-dropping. and yet, his dedication to helping the poorest of the poor still rings absolutely true. the caring just shines through, as does his charisma. you’ve got to love someone who says about Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, the new president of liberia, “i’m crazy about her, i think she’s really somethin’.”

he doesn’t speak in soundbytes. he doesn’t have to. he can delve into a complex side issue, then bring the speech back around to the focal point in such a way that the context of that side issue becomes enfolded within the overall whole. the kyoto treaty, security issues, public health, personal freedom and development in african countries – they all become part of a vision for changing the world through private philanthropy.

i suppose that the reason this speech seems so remarkable, is that it offers a striking counterpoint to the quality of leadership currently on offer. because no matter what you thought of his policies, you never doubted his fundamental ability to conduct the duties of the office with profound intelligence, thoughtfulness and steadfast capability.

so if you’ve missed these qualities as i have, let a real statesman remind you how it’s done. worthwhile listening to be sure.

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philanthropy, statesmanship, speech, president clinton, slate 60

i recently met up with a friend of mine for some drinks. it was the first time we’d caught up since my return from travel, and she had previously done a rtw trip herself, so there was a lot of reminiscing about places and experiences, comparing notes on memories and fun. eventually we got round to the topic of what it is like to come back to the u.k. after so long away, a process which, for lack of a better term i have been calling “re-entry”. like an astronaut coming back into earth’s orbit, readjusting to the weight of gravity, and having such an extraordinary experience but landing with a thump back into everyday life. in particular, getting used to being an expat again – a permanent foreigner rather than just a strange tourist passing through.

i’m eligible for british citizenship in just a few more months. it’s really astounding how quickly time has passed – seems only yesterday that i started this blog after finally getting a work permit that meant i could stay. but in march 07, i will have been here for 4 years – longer than i ever imagined, yet shorter than i could’ve thought possible. in particular, having this blog has enabled me to really explore my own experience, from a variety of different perspectives. but i’ve never stopped feeling like an expat.

the u.k. government says that i have proven myself sufficiently british to become a citizen. but even if i lived here 20 years, i’d never feel like a brit. is it right to avail yourself of the benefits of a system you don’t believe in?

what i have discovered, upon re-entry, however, is that i’ve entered a new phase in my london life. something i really never expected to feel – genuine affection for a lifestyle and culture which i can now claim as my own. in talking with my friend (whose husband is a kiwi) we came to the conclusion that there are several distinct phases an expat goes through.

first there’s the initial honeymoon phase – everything new is fascinating or quaint, exciting or curious. from learning to cross the street to becoming familiar with local brands, to figuring out the money and transportation, it’s all one big adventure where evry day you discover something new. my first trip to a grocery store was a revelation – all the novelty, all the choice! i thought i’d never tire of it.

the second phase is one of frustration – all the things you initially thought were charmingly quirky begin to grate on your nerves, and all the obstacles there are to surmount with living in a new country just wear you down. new lingo, new customs, new life – it’s all a lot to get used to, and constantly having to navigate your way in uncharted territory is so tiring. getting used to being paid monthly, trying to learn metric, not knowing where to buy pie tins or even if they have them here. you struggle to understand and be understood. the prevailing sentiment is one of “this country is so backwards/inefficient/confusing/generally stoopid” and it’s at this point you being to wonder just what the hell you’re doing here anyway when it would be so much easier to go home. and a lot of people do.

but if you make it through that phase, you enter into what i call “the uneasy truce”. sure some things about the country and its people are great, and some things will drive you mad. but you begin to see there’s real merit in how things are done on both sides of the atlantic, and you’ve decided, for better or worse, that this is where you will be for the forseeable future. you may not love it, but you’re part of it – and it becomes part of you. so you grumble about the weather and kvetch about the tube like a proper londoner. you settle in for the long haul and make your peace with the fact that there is no “dunkin’ donuts” coffee to be had, and that doing laundry takes 3 hours. you adapt and survive and even flourish where you’re planted. you make some friends and find yourself explaining to people back in the states that air-drying clothes *really is* more eco-friendly. you have your routine, you have your circle, you have your life. and it’s only when you find yourself surrounded by new people that you remember you are still a novelty, still have to explain your background and how/ why you’re here. you may fit into your everyday world, but the minute you’re out of your element, you are reminded you’re still a stranger here. and always will be. it’s a suspended state of tension, but you get used to it.

and finally there is (what i hope is) the final phase. one of a warm fondness and almost protective feeling toward those attributes and characteristics which you’ve come to embrace as a part of your home. it caught me off balance, this feeling of devotion upon returning. for all my moaning, it seems i have come to cherish this place in spite of myself. in hindsight, of course, it was bound to happen – you can’t voluntarily remain someplace without immersing in it, becoming permeated by it. or even more accurately, engaging with it as a part of your personality, as a friend, as a comfort. but that means acknowledging that it is a part of my happiness – and that brings a loyalty and responsibility to care for it. a willingness to give of myself, in return for what has been given. much like a marriage, i may always have a love/hate relationship with it – but i miss this place when i am not here.

to my utter surprise, i find i have an allegiance to this country, these people. and it took leaving to figure that out.

so i will take up british citizenship when it is offered. i may always be an expat, always an outsider looking in, but i have as much stake in this place as any “real” brit does. it’s become part of who i am, even without fanfare or ceremony.

really the oath and passport are just secondary.

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as much as i am enjoying our new flat and new neighbourhood, there is one thing, however, which it is noticably lacking: a good local.

for my american readers:

i’ve written a little bit about the pub culture and etiquette before, but i’ve not yet explained the uniquely british icon which is “the local”. as you’ve no doubt seen in movies, the pub serves a very important function in the daily life of the british. it is a gathering point for much of the community, a place to meet friends and neighbours, a hub of information, and a ritualised social club. the neighbourhood pub (or “local”) is most often frequented by the same people day after day, who build bonds over pints, develop unique personalities and become well-known and respected patrons of the establishment. people often frequent “the local” several times a week, as a matter of habit – but it’s important to point out that this is usually less about the drinking, and more about the interaction. in many ways, a good local is much like “cheers” on t.v. – where everyody knows your name, and the beer is secondary to the comraderie. people often while away many hours at a time, nursing pints, gossiping, sharing a laugh, and generally hanging out. and this time is also an investment – there’s a definite proprietary feel towards a good local, a sense of ownership that the regulars foster. because it is, after all, *the people* that make a good local. in many ways, a local is a clique – like gravitating towards like. it’s a community relationship, and when it works well, it is a lovely thing to belong to.

and there are many different types of locals. posh locals with cream and oak tones, fancy food (duck and scallion pancakes anyone?) and pinstriped businessmen. old man locals with dim lighting, dark panelling, worn carpets, a thick blue smoke curtain, and a down-at-the-heels air. hard drinker locals with burly publicans, rough customers, cheap lagers, and lots of fruit machines. quirky locals with funky music, young bartenders, offbeat beers on tap, and loungey furnishings. and if you’re lucky enough to have more than one in your immediate area, you can take your pick. find something that feels right. much like your bookshelf or movie collection, where you choose to drink says a lot about who you are – so you want to choose something that reflects your taste, your attitude. a place where you feel you fit in.

the locals at my last two flats have been of the quirky kind, and that really suits me because i’m kind of quirky myself. a relaxed vibe, sofas, good music and a decent beer puts me in the right frame of mind – comfort is key when you want to gather with friends, or need to unwind. our last local was called “hoochie mamas” – a tiny little hole in the wall that played rock and reggae, served giant pizzas, and had hoegaarden, guinness and san miguel on tap. we loved it – spent many a birthday, new years, and friday night there. and even though it’s still only a 15 min walk away from our new place, it’s just a little too far to be our local anymore. we will miss it.

and sadly, the local pickings around our new place are pretty slim. there’s “the wheatsheaf” across the road, which leans toward the “hard drinkers” side. there’s “the rose and crown” towards tooting bec common, which is definitely an “old man” place. as is “the kings head” on upper tooting road. there’s “smoke”, a posh bar/diner at the corner of our street which tries too hard to be trendy to be comfortable. and that’s really about it in the immediate area. the other decent options (”the hope” on wandsworth common, the nicer pubs at balham high road) are all still a 10 min walk. which doesn’t seem that far – until you have to make your way home after a few too many. a local should ideally be a place you can easily stumble back from.

so all this is to say that i’m not sure where we’ll end up making our “other home” at yet. but given the amount of time we’re likely to spend there, it’s an important decision that shouldn’t be rushed.

just ask “norm”.

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british culture, pub culture

so after much encouragement (read: bullying ) by family and friends who read my travel blog, i have been convinced to try and “do something” with my writing.

it’s a bit scary putting this down in words. i suppose i’ve always had a fragile little bubble of belief that maybe (just maybe) writing might be something i could be halfway decent at if i really tried. a tiny secret desire i harboured, but never actually admitted to because it felt too vulnerable. writing is something i do for soul sustenance, something that fills me up and balances me out. do i really want to put that out there for public consumption and criticism? am i strong enough to withstand the possibility of having that bubble popped? i have writer friends who make their living stringing words into images, arguments, and information – quite frankly, i am in awe of them. what on earth makes me think i am good enough to do what they do?

but i am also jealous of them. i would give my eyeteeth to do what they do. to do something i felt real passion for. to work hard at something that felt good. to be able to pour my energies into something that absorbed my interest. to have something to show at the end of a day. if there’s even a smidge of a chance that i could make that happen, don’t i owe it to myself to try?

so i’m putting this out there – not because i’m looking for any external validation of my dreams, but because if i tell someone i will do something, i damn well will. no matter how big, how small, how scary. i’m just stubborn like that. it’s the capricorn in me. how else do you think i ever made it through the start line of a marathon? i told people i would, so i did.

so i’m telling you, dear internet. i will try this. i don’t know how, but i will. i don’t need encouragement, so much as courage, in written form. the permanence of putting something into words so that i can make it happen.

any suggestions as to where the hell to begin, gratefully received.

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my spirits continue to rise.

- the first female speaker of the house
- dems winning the senate
- and the icing on the cake, the resignation of rumsfeld

i didn’t have a blog back in march 2003 when bush began bombing iraq, but the moment that war began is forever frozen in memory for me. i can’t begin to describe the utter desperate revulsion, shame and fury i felt, all at once. i wanted to peel my skin off just to be shed of its association with massacre. i wanted to *do* something. i couldn’t just sit there and let it happen without some protest on my part – an individual statement of horror and adamant objection. and i would have been protesting in the street at the first opportunity – except that i was so worried something would happen to jeopardise my move to the uk in two weeks time. i felt like my hands were tied. it was horrible.

i wrote this later that day in my journal:

war has started.

i want to scream.
i want to shout.
i want to throw myself in front of the planes if only to slow the killing by my small act of resistance. i can’t believe they are killing people in my name, as an american citizen – yet somehow i believe it deep within the grief of my bones.

my outrage sputters against the dark.

i moved to london 2 weeks after that, and since that day every time i turn around the news just gets worse and worse. every time i hear it, my heart my stomach my morale just sinks. i never thought bottom could ever get this far down.

but finally, there is reason – to think the pendulum might start to swing back, to think we’ve hit the bottom and are trying to surface, to think that maybe we’ve lifted the moratorium on questions, to think that maybe we’ve had enough fear and frustration, death and despair.

maybe we finally want more from our government, ourselves.

maybe hope floats.

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rumsfeld, senate, house, iraq war, midterm elections

happy halloween!

one holiday i really do miss living here is halloween. little kids going for their first trick-or-treat, houses and shops all decorated to the nines. jack-o-lanterns and themed candy, costume parties and scary movies.

some of my best memories are of halloween. as a kid i always dressed as a gypsy (easy enough with my mum’s 60’s hippie skirts, hair scarves and hoop earrings), and my sister was always a fairy princess (she always ordered rainbow sherbet ice cream as wel, but that’s another story). my dad was one of those parents who never outgrew trick-or-treating and i think he as truly sad when we all got too old for it. his specialty was creating the most horrifyingly realistic costumes and scaring the bejeezus out of the neighbourhood kids. amputations done with butcher’s soup bones, real knives through the head, iron spikes through the chest – the grislier the better. it was always too cold on halloween night to go out without a jacket, so we’d walk around with our costumes peeking out from under our puffy coats, lamenting the ruined effect.

and of course, there was the candy. for a sugar freak like me, halloween is the raison d’etreof holidays. chuckles jellies, m&ms, mike n’ ikes, candy corn, nik’l nips, reeses cups, ju ju bees, sugar babies, dots, junior mints, twizzlers, swee’tarts, lik’em ade, spree, caramels, atomic fireballs, almond joys. i loved them all. we’d get home and dump out our booty to categorise – then let the trading begin. and of course, being a true sweets fiend, i stole liberally from my brother and sister – particularly kate who always “saved” her candy well into the christmas season.

as an adult, halloween was all about the costume parties – who had the best/most inventive/most ironic/most ghoulish costume. i was never very creative, but my ex husband would spend weeks thinking up ideas for his outfit. and our circle of friends always threw all-night halloween raves with funky punches and d.j.s which ended in the wee hours on the roof before taking the subway home in the dawning light with all the other bedraggled and drunk costumed partiers.

and if, for some reason you didn’t have a party to go to, there was always the raft of b-grade horror films at the cinema. my friend johanna dragged me to more ridiculous “scary” movies than i care to remember. “the blair witch project :2″ was her fault, as was “the ring:2″ and other cinematic travesties which i have blocked from memory.

but no matter how you spent it, halloween was a big deal. overly commercial? sure. cheesy and tasteless? absolutely. but a holiday dedicated to the pure joy of being childish and goofy, the sugar highs of overindulging, and the fun of scaring yourself just for the adrenaline rush and euphoria that comes after.

the brits have halloween in theory – but they really haven’t got the concept down properly. it’s just not very british to engage in lighthearted foolishness just for its own sake. it’s not very british to enjoy fake-spookiness and funny-scariness. so there’s no decoratons, no greeting cards, barely any trick-or-treating or “fancy dress” costumes. looking out the front door, you’d never even realise it was a holiday.

and i miss it.

happy samhain! Happy all hallow’s eve! may “the great pumpkin” be good to you

(if you want to read a bit about halloween in britain, try here and here. “If it weren’t for all the American ex-pats flooding into his country, Hallowe’en would still be the meaningless event it was when I was kid.” and “But much as some Britons are angry at being co-opted in yet another realm by the consumerist culture of the United States, some Americans living in Britain are annoyed at Britons’ failure to grasp correct Halloween protocol” – interesting reading)

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halloween, samhain, trick-or-treat, britain, usa, all hallow's eve

somehow when i thought about coming back to london, i imagined that certain things would be fun – cooking nice fresh healthy meals (nothing like not being able to eat salad to make you appreciate vegetables), re-exploring the city, and flat hunting.

boy was i wrong on that last count.

i haven’t actually gone flat-hunting or picked my own place to live since i moved from nyc to boston about 8 years ago. back then, i remember walking into what would become our apartment and falling instantly in love. it had lots of room, lots of wood, lots of storage, lots of light. it had a porch and a yard and a dishwasher and a cellar. but what really snagged my heart was the pantry – i could picture myself putting groceries away in the pantry and looking out on my garden. and that’s how i knew it was “the one”.

so i was there for almost 4 years and when i finally left, i was heartbroken, but convinced that my move to london would bring brighter things.

moving to london, i ended up in my first place basically by default. since i didn’t know anyone in the city and had no place to stay, when this woman angela agree to rent me a room sight unseen 3 days before my flight, i jumped at it. luckily it all worked out rather well – angela was lovely, the room and flat were cute, and i ended up staying for a year.

the reason for my second move in london came when i fell in love with jonno and he asked me to move in 3 weeks after we met. he lived in a peculiar location (above a car dealership) but it was a great flat – huge, neat, clean, and dirt cheap. it had a giant kitchen, two bathrooms, two balconies, and best friends for next-door neighbours. we had a lot of good times in that flat – impromtpu summer barbeques, big thanksgiving dinners, communal christmasses. it held a place in my heart because it was the first place in the u.k. where i had family. we were there for a couple of years and when we had to relinquish it to leave for our trip, i was gutted.

but neither of these apartments were places that i chose. and while they were places that i grew to love, they weren’t “my” places.

so upon returning a few weeks ago, one of the few things i looked forward to was choosing a new home. someplace that reflected me, in an area i wanted to live in, with things i chose.

the problem with that of course, is that i am not living by myself. there is another opinion for consideration. so where i wanted a nice central location even if it meant a smaller apartment, jonno wanted a bigger space even if it meant living a bit further out. where i was willing to live without furniture until we could buy our own, jonno wanted to find someplace furnished. where i was happy enough to have a view of the city, jonno wanted a garden. disputes and discouragement soon got the better of us. and in the end, we decided to plump for the first place we saw. i think i probably liked it better than he did, but we were both too worn down to continue the search. we came to the realisation that we were never going to find someplace amazingly wonderful with our budget and time constraints. so we agreed to the only place we both liked. hardly love at first sight.

only to then run into a series of snags, the result of being out of the country for 6 months and me being unemployed. this is all way too much anxiety for me. all the calls back and forth trying to explain our current circumstances, track down references, find our old landlord… it’s all putting knots in my stomach, stressing me out. if all works out, we will have the flat on wednesday. if there are further obstacles… well, i don’t want to think about that. this is definitely no fun.

i just want someplace to call home. i’m hoping this flat will be it. and it will be mine because i chose it. maybe it won’t be a flat that i fell in love with. but i have a boy who loves me – and i will grow to love it because he is there. i can picture that now – see us curled up on the sofa drinking coffee and looking out over london. he is the one that snagged my heart.

and that’s home.

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woo hoo! maybe there’s hope for the u.s. yet…

again, many congrats to the brave people fighting for equality everywhere. and many thanks to the brave judges who speak truth where they see it.

recognising love in all its forms can only make our society stronger.

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marriage, gay, homosexual, law, new jersey, civil unions, civil rights