Broken Pieces

I think of you like yesterday,

(ElifKarakoc)

a smile on your face.

An array of broken pieces

all but dappled shades of gray.

I think of you as everything.

Deception that was chance.

The thought of what we used to be.

Fading error, trip and dance.

I think of us as nothing,

just the stories that we told.

The passion of a summer's morn.

Open water, flakes of gold.

I ponder.  Pensive.  Carefully,

a thought I should forget.

The heavy rest of midnights past

a glimpse I should regret.

For tightly tangled, hidden now.

Leather boots, my thoughts, this kiss.

The comfort of an autumn day.

So much I must dismiss.

I Don't Shop at Walmart

I'm Loving it...?

It was when I was traveling with my sister that I first really started to notice an inconsistency with myself.  I truly believe in things that I don't necessarily live out.  An example at the time was McDonald's.  I'm not a fan to begin with.  At all, actually.  I'm also not entirely supportive of globalization and I think McDonald's (or, to a greater extent, KFC) is a perfect representation of all that is negative with the concept.  Still, there were a couple unfortunate times where we found ourselves with hours to waste before taking a bus/flight/taxi/ect but no hostel and we would park our over-sized backpacks on a tiled McDonald's floor and eat ninety cent sundaes that usually differentiated a little bit from one you'd buy in Detroit.

That's right. I am guilty of supporting McDonald's (but never KFC's) proliferation in third world countries.  I always felt guilty about it.  I don't even ever eat McDonald's here at home.

About a year ago I was talking to some friends and the subject of Walmart came up.  Yup, as you would imagine I don't think they're all that great either.  Now, I do realize that Walmart is not all that is evil and wrong with the world.  The just happen to be the biggest example.  My sister, who just returned from local clinic midwifery work in the slums of Manila says that shopping, especially in Walmart type institutions just feels gross.

So one of my friends said, "I don't shop there (Walmart), I just don't.  I think they do a lot of harm to small business and ethical practices.  Sometimes it's tempting to run in and scoop up the cheap 'natural' peanut butter but, you know what?  It's not worth it."

I was all, "Yeah, Allie!  Good for you.  I'm really supportive of that.  I should really do that..."  All the while feeling some nagging guilt that, even though I don't believe that supporting Walmart is a good thing I do it wholeheartedly anyway.

Before I turned twenty-five I decided to quit Walmart for at least a year.  There is no Walmart in my hometown so I figured it wouldn't be hard to avoid that six times a year that I would normally shop there.  That was before I knew I was moving to a small city with a central Walmart for my school year.  I went in there once with a friend.  The price drop signs beckoned me, but I'm extremely happy with my abstinence.  At least I don't have to feel guilty with my fifteen dollar jeans or swear at them when the zippers break after a month.

Maybe eventually I'll put even more effort into eating locally.  I'll drive less, pray more, stop procrastinating, go to bed on time...  Until then I'll just blame Walmart.

I am Canadian. I am Embarrassed.

Alright, so we lost.

That doesn't even really matter right now. I admit that I never invested very heavy emotion into this series. Regardless, any disappointment in the loss is severely overshadowed by disgust in what followed in Vancouver last night.

I turned off the t.v. And went for a walk with a friend. I'm glad to say that every fan I know, personally, handled themselves with decorum, even congratulating Boston. Unfortunately, the gathered "fans" in Vancouver's streets had other ideas.

I'm embarrassed for Vancouver. They're going to have reason to wake up hungover and embarrassed for themselves. It's a beautiful city. I know that what I say won't have any neutralizing affect on international headlines but I want to say that the vast majority of us are appalled, anyway.

Maybe Canada needs to learn what it is to have something worth rioting about. Because apparently some of us think our tax dollars and reputation are worth burning away with RCMP cruisers and frustration of a lost hockey game.

Never Lose

Insinuate that I'm less than you.

I'll hate you.

Call it insecurity and see if I care.
You might be right.

(Eonn)

Lonely Again

My room mate is leaving tomorrow and I'd be lying if I said I'm not even a little bit sad.

(Aly-Wan)

Not because she's the best room mate I've ever had.  She's not.  Not because we spent a lot of time together.  We didn't.  I alternate between sadness and very glad that never again will she eat all my food when I'm not looking.  Never again will I have to listen to her boyfriend and her at 2:00 AM through cardboard walls.  Never again will all the dishes and the salt shaker end up in a pile on her bedroom floor.  Never again will she leave the toilet paper empty and the lights all on.  Never again will....  Umm...  That's it actually.  She's a beautiful (and incredibly hot) seventeen year old who's sweet and mostly pretty considerate.

She makes me want to mother her.  Not to worry.  I never treated her as anything but an adult.

I'm also kind of excited for her.  Because she's excited with the excitement of a seventeen year old who's never headed out on her own.  And I'm a little bit jealous because she's going on a road trip with the boy she loves to plans she's optimistically thrilled about.

Oh, to be seventeen again...

But I'm sad.  Because I'm not nearly as optimistic as she is.  Because we'll never eat popsicles for breakfast and talk about travel plans together again.  Because I never met her brother, never saw her step-dad's straw house construction, never talked to her about things I think are most important.  She taught me I'm not quite as confrontational as I think I am.  Especially with someone I don't know and wish I did.

And I'm selfishly sad.  Because I know in two weeks I'll be talking to myself again.  I'll be sitting on my couch eating a meal I cooked for myself.  I'll realize I'm more comfortable if I know someone else will come home.  Or that, even if she rarely emerges, there's someone else in my other room.  And I'll realize How much I don't like living alone.

I Hate the Fact

I hate the way he whispers

(AvrilkaTff)

in your hair when I'm around.
I hate the way you close the door
And pretend there's not a sound.
I hate the way you giggle
like you're happy, 'cause you're not
I hate the way I tell myself
I won't give this a thought.

I hate that this is temporary,
everything will change.
I hate the way you look at me,
you think that I'm insane.
I hate his twisted eyebrows
and his soft but piercing stare.
I hate that you convince yourself
you make a perfect pair.

I knew you as a child,
yes, I knew you better then.
Getting to know you better, now,
is something I intend.
It's hard, though, when he holds you close,
and knows I know the truth.
It's hard, though, when you hold his hand
and won't accept the proof.

I've made my own mistakes, you know.
I'm not one to pretend.
I'd take my own advice, you know,
if I could do it all again.
I've learned a few hard lessons,
guess they shaped me as I grew.
I think about it now,
the same will happen to you.

I hate him for the way I know
he'll let you down one night.
I hate there's nothing I can do
to help you learn to fight.
I hate the fact I care to much,
I just can't help you see.
But I know you're just becoming
the beautiful woman to be.

---

Hello to any awesome new followers, and welcome!  Don't worry, I only rarely inflict my "poems" upon you all.

Bitter New Year To You

(dinudey1985)

New Years isn't something that was ever tradition when I was growing up.  I remember bitterly spending it with my family.  Or, even more bitterly yelling it in with our lamps defiantly on and my sister's wrist watch reminding us the rest of the world was partying.  Once we avoided a party because the adults were going to have one upstairs, and us kids were going to party in the basement.  Family first.  I was bitter about that, too.

As I got older we spent New Years eve playing pool in our church basement or watching the ball drop in New York through my Grandma's television.  One of the more memorable was being at the top of a pine tree.  My sister and cousins perched on branches below me.  Driving around town and trying to set off car alarms.  I was bitter then, as well.  My friend group had intentionally uninvited me.  Or fighting on an Israeli beach at midnight in a country that doesn't really acknowledge the holiday.  Or getting slurpees on a volunteer program that required us back by midnight.

I've kicked off too many of my years bitter and lost.  My toughest break-up happened on a New Years day.  Despite all this I still anticipate the holiday with a sort of respectful admiration.  Maybe I have a little glimmer of optimism that insists on the possibility of fresh starts, dynamic celebration and successful resolutions.

Or maybe I'm just a fool.

The Middle of Nowhere in the Middle of the Night

Dec. 31st, 2009, 11:30 PM.  I needed change.

11:30 PM and someone said we should climb the lookout.  In the middle of a wildlife reserve.  In the dark.  We were in the middle of this nowhere anyway.  We were tired of flying down an icy hill on over-sized tubes and throwing gasoline on the fire.  I was tired of chocolate Christmas baking and being the oldest in the group.  I was tired of doing doughnuts in empty parking lots and hours spent running in a mild winter out of pure frustration.

twenty five of us piled into four cars and sped down to the empty reserve and a clear starry sky.  We ran down clapboard paths over dead winter marshes and up the four flights of steps to the open top.  We made it, breathless, by midnight.

I screamed at the emptiness and my small town's lights in the distance.  I grabbed my blonde friend and we looked at each other, jaws set.

"Get lost, 2009.  We're so done with you!"

She was going to Calgary.  I was going to Arizona.  I haven't seen her since.  I miss her, but I know her life has gone the way she wanted.

And myself.  I just didn't know.   I'm not my brothers that were hugging me, lifting me, threatening to throw me over the rail.  I'd given up construction long ago.  I was twenty three.  I'd seen the world.

Twenty four of us yelling in the new year.  Crammed in an open look-out tower blindly hugging and looking forward to 2010.  And me.

The Biggest Role Boobs Will Ever Play on My Blog

I want feedback.  I specifically want feedback from my male readers out there.  I'm sure you guys exist.  Even if I never do post boobs for real (sorry for the tease).  But I have a very specific question.

First of all, I've never watched Jersey Shore.  Not even a little piece of a little clip of the show.  But the general impression I've formed about the show made me think it would fit this post well.  Here's what confuses me.  I know girls who channel Jersey Shore with all their might.  You know.  Pale lipstick, excessive eyeliner, trashy hair extensions, that disturbing orange hue, single line eyebrows.  That kissy face.  I wish I was rude gutsy enough to snag some of their ten million pictures off Facebook and show them to you.  But I'm not, so these shots of Jersey Shore are gonna have to do because, frankly, it's pretty much the same thing.

So, the thing is, I've never heard a guy say they like that crap.  As a girl I honestly think it's a little disturbing (and I feel the same way about the fake orange males wearing Ed Hardy and trucker hats).  It's trashy.  Period.  So, guys tell me they like girls who act like ladies.  They say they like girls who can rock the natural look.  They say all sorts of stuff, and then chase after girls who leave the house looking like, well...  Check attached images.  Then...  then they get all over these girls like their the hottest things their poor horny selves have seen all year.  I've seen it, and I know you have too.  

I have three theories.

1.  Boys are shallow.  They think they like genuine girls because they like the idea of a genuine girl.  They also don't quite understand how much of the Jersey chicks are fake.  

2.  They actually like genuine girls.  However, the thing is that genuine girls take a little more work.  The Jersey chicks are easy.  What other kinda girl would put this out there?  And, really, why go hard when you can go easy?

3.  The Jersey chicks just know how to play they guys.  They know when to smile, when to flash boob. And, oh yeah, they know how to flirt.  Flirt like you'll get somewhere.  They know how to make any boy feel like he really matters.  Like sex is the biggest objective in their life.  And, yeah.  It probably is.

So tell me, guys.  Why does this work on you?  And girls, do you get it?  Or are you a little bit Jersey yourself (in which case I do apologize).

Don't be surprised if this post only survives a week or two.  I doubt I'm brave enough to risk the Jersey chicks in my life eventually stumbling across it.

Abortion, My Thoughts

I'm confused as to why the abortion debate is considered a religious or feminist issue. Either an unborn baby is a life, or it's not. If it is, terminating a pregnancy is wrong by every standard. Abortion is a humanitarian issue.

It's dangerous to draw a line defining when life begins. Is it when a fetus can feel pain? Is it the first time it cries? It's first breath of oxygen? The day it enters the third trimester?

I'm aware that pain is caused every day to women who attempt their own abortions. I'm aware that rape and marital molestation result in countless pregnancies. I would never ever argue that these are anything but tragedies.

It's unfortunate that sex, even uninvited, can result in accidental life. It's unfortunate that birth control fails, or isn't readily available in parts of the world where population control is needed most. It sucks that life sends us challenges, responsibilities and mistakes. And it really hurts to realize that this is passed onto the helpless little lives that result.  We need to work on fixing these issues.

Regardless, hundreds of thousands of abortions exist simply to terminate an inconvenience. And yes, illegal abortions can kill women. Abortion is a possibility and a fact. It's not going away. But here's the thing. If I believe that a fetus is a child. If i believe that the emotional upheavel experienced after a miscarriage or an abortion isn't simply a coincidence. If I believe it's a life, then advocating for the privilege of ending it is a terrible injustice.

I'm not pro life because I'm religious. Certainly not because I'm anti-woman.  I am pro-life because I have an adopted little brother I love into a million pieces.  Because I think that even those without voices need rights.  It's an opinion I'll never apologize for.

I'm pro life because I believe in living.

Blah

I've always said I don't get depressed.  I've always stuck by this statement pretty well.  I do, however, get pissed off.  Seems like this time of year I end up frustrated at almost everything.  It's like I'm  suddenly realizing that summer was far too carefree.  And that somewhere, in the suntanned bliss of eternal youth, I turned yet another year older.

I wish it didn't happen.  I get to thinking about where I am, what I'm doing, and who exactly that makes me.  Very very dangerous questions.  Especially when you don't have good answers.  And dammit, I do not have good answers.

I like to redirect my energy.  I love skating hard and scoring goals.  I like getting slammed into the mats by kids with brown belts.  I like pretending the little things I've accomplished matter.

I love arguing.  Always have, always will.  It's a skill I've honed until I'm pretty good at it.  Which is too bad, because that's not a beneficial thing.  Especially when I don't have anyone to argue about anything worthwhile with.

Either that or I employ frighteningly brilliant avoidance tactics.  The fact that I have no television doesn't even help that much.  I'm just that good.

And I don't get Seasonal Effective Disorder.  Yeah.  Right.

(Ronaaa)

Hetzbasheket

Today I miss Silent Arrow. I miss almost everything about it. Dancing with poi in the courtyard, walking into Mitzpe to bring back grocery staples and asking for two reciepts in my best Hebrew. Laughing at absolutely everything all the time. I miss talking to Ori late at night and having him think I was insightful, despite his superior mastery of my language. I miss lighting the candles or stealing Sason's mp3 and listening to his techno because we didn't have other music. I miss the hand drums and the guitar.

I've talked about the desert before.  There's something about the silent sky, the blazing stars, the eternal aridness that calms this mountain girl. Silent arrow is where I learned this.  I'm not sure why this is so, or why I'd never learned it earlier in Mexico.  Perhaps I never needed it before.  Maybe it was being abandoned when I was vulnerable.  I miss sitting over the crater talking to Sason all night about our futures because we knew we'd never talk again.  I miss the stoners and the wanderers and being on my own.  

If you ever make it to Mitzpe Ramon say hello for me.

I miss feeling like I could be gone forever, or as long as I needed to be.  I miss walking barefoot over sun warmed stones.  I miss chopping crates for firewood and stoking the fire late at night when I should've been curled up beneath my hippi blanket.  I miss doing the dishes because my best friend cooked us dinner.  I miss endless cups of desert tea and I miss arak mixed with grapefruit juice.  I miss smoking sheesha with the kids who drove down on weekends.  

I miss the freedom and knowing everything would be alright.

All photos through Hetzbasheket on Facebook

Sometimes

I mismatched my hair elastics sometimes just to piss you off .  Because you needed to lighten up and learn that red and orange on my braids was fun.  Sometimes I pretended I didn't care, and you didn't call my bluff.  Sometimes I held your hand in the backseat and decided to think that no one noticed.

Sometimes I told people it was nothing.  I told them what I couldn't stand so they would believe me.  I told myself it wouldn't happen, and wasn't happening, and would never happen.

Sometimes I got tired of being the strong one.

You let me cut your hair, and wore the shirts I got you.  I looked in your eyes.  That was my mistake.  Your eyes, your phone voice, your endless adoration.

Oh, did I say endless?  My mistake.  Oh, no, wait.  Yours.

(luna-aino)

The (No) Internet Experiment

Here's the thing.  I like the internet.  It's an endless resource ever at my fingertips.  So I abuse it.  I don't even want to know the amount of time I've spent online over the last year.  If I am away for a week I don't have any trouble going offline, but I spend far to much time in front of my screens when the option is there.


Let's face it.  There is much I want to do.  dreams I want to pursue, thoughts to be had, family and friends I know I don't see enough of, cooking, music, cleaning, studying, exercise.  All far more worthwhile then catching up my FB feed or watching movies on youtube.  (hey, at least I don't have an actual television).

In short, I am so much closer to the person I want to be without the internet.

I'm not about to delete my facebook, or give up blogging or online courses or news sources.  I'm not doubting the online world is useful if we make it serve us the way we want it too.

This is, essentially, the first time with my own place and internet and computer. In the past I've relied on stops at friends and the library.  You know what?  It was better that way.

I love the outdoors.  I love conversation, adventures, life.  You know, the real version.  I'm just terrible for procrastinating it.

So, here's the plan.  For the next week I'll be online for no longer then half an hour each day (including my apps), outside of studying.  I'll still be blogging, but I'll just c/p from word.  Actually, don't be surprised if I blog more, and better quality.

I'll miss some of my mind numbing time wasting standard habits but we'll see.  Maybe I'll have to enact this as a standard part of my life.

Autumn Beats Me Up

(Source)

I know it's still the end of summer.  A season for freedom and carelessness and passion.  I know I was jumping from cliffs into beautifully fresh water this weekend.  Around this time we're usually melding into a beautiful Indian summer.  However, this year I've already tasted the crisp tang of fall.

The first emotion autumn brings me is an extreme urge to move on.  Summer's dying and I need to travel, quit my job... leave.  I need to learn, wander, wonder.  Time to work and move on and join autumn sports.  September is a learned habit to pack up, start school, travel, move.

Change.

And then, or at the same time, I start to want to settle down.  Cooling air makes me want fuzzy blankets and someone to share them with.  I want fall colours and cable stitch sweaters to wear with my bluejeans.  I want to make jam from our harvest, collect firewood, hunt and knit burnt orange touques to keep me warm through the winter cold.  I want an acreage and an orchard.  Some dark cool dirt to dig in and a fireplace to come inside to.

Settling in.

Here we can climb wooden ladders with laden canvas totes.  Gala, Honeycrisp, Delicious, Macintosh.  You better believe I can bake a mean pie.  I can milk a cow, make yogurt, cut meat to stock the freezer.  I've pressed juice, made pickles and dug potatoes.  This is where I'm from.

But I have a backpack by my bed.  And a tendency to search airline tickets when I'm supposed to be paying bills.  I have mind-stretching universities in my bookmarks and a tank full of gas that begs me to use it every time I drive to the edge of town.  Rusty Spanish that begs to be stretched out.  Energy to wear out on the ice, the judo mats, the ski hill.

Fall brings out both sides of my excess energy.  Estrogen and testosterone in a mad and endless clash. This fall neither will be much of an option.  I'll need my silly little side projects.  No month long road trips or beer in hostel basements.  No international markets, or no running my own local booth.  I'll be wearing out my fight in a dojo and wondering why I'm settling for middle ground.