There is something comforting about routine. You know where you will be on any given day, at any given hour. You know when you will wake up and how long it takes to get somewhere. It's comfortable, it's steady, it's easy.
I think I cling to routine out of fear of the unknown. I don't like empty hours, I don't like spontaneous change. I don't like being unprepared. I spend a lot of time worrying about whether I'm prepared. What the hell for?
I had the terrible realisation earlier this week. My boyfriend and I had gotten into an argument, we were running late, I'm anal about time and he's not always great at being punctual. Either way, I stormed off because I was terrified of missing the train and being late on a day when I really needed to be on time. We got to where we needed to be with time to spare. We ate breakfast in silence. I apologised for being an ass over getting places on time. He shrugged.
And then he said some things that really stuck with me. I hadn't been very nice to him as of late. I'd been very quick to tell him off or say he was doing something wrong. I was cold where I would normally be affectionate.
I realised I'd been taking him for granted. I'd been so wrapped up in me and my worries and my routine that I just sort of treated him like he was a part of the furniture. I treated him as though he was always going to be around, which isn't true, there's no contract tying him forever to me. We haven't even dated for a year yet.
What struck me most is that I think that I have adopted the worst personality traits of my parents. My father is ungodly punctual. We used to be the first people at family parties, we would always be early for movies, everything was rush rush rush to make it on time. There are good things about being punctual. I think that it shows respect to other people, it shows that you value their time. It shows that you care to be where you're supposed to at the time you're supposed to be. But it is also a pain in the ass. I need to not care so much about it. I just have no idea how to break myself of it.
My father also used to walk so fast through a crowd (generally to get to whatever destination as quickly as humanly possible) that he'd often leave us in the dust. I was doing that to my boyfriend. I knew we were late for the train and I blazed on ahead, assuming he'd catch up (and he could, if he wanted to. He's one of the few people who can walk faster than I can). He never did. He kept behind me about 15 feet, like he was afraid to talk to me or I don't know what.
My mother could be very mean to my father. She could cut him down to size, tell him exactly what it was he was doing wrong, even if he was just doing something to be silly or funny. I had been unnecessarily curt with him on some things. I had been criticising him too harshly and too frequently. It felt as though we'd been married 50 years rather than dating 11 months. I feel like there should still be magic at this point. We shouldn't be ragging on each other about stupid things. That's not something I ever want to do.
I worry that I'm turning into this little self centred monster who doesn't know how to be kind anymore. I want to surprise him with sweet little things and I'm coming up blank. I hate that. I hate not being able to think of some small thing that I could get or do to make him smile. I joke occasionally that I'm a terrible girlfriend, but the truth is, I think I really may be. How do you fix that?
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
English Weather
I know that England gets a bad reputation for having some pretty terrible weather. Having lived here for a year, I've seen just about everything that this little island can do from snow to hail to pouring rain. And that was all in one day.
Normally, the weather here doesn't bother me too much. I'm fairly productive when it's grey and rainy, and since that is most of the time, I'm pretty good about getting my work done. The few days that it is brilliantly sunny and pleasant makes those days even more wonderful; the grey makes you appreciate the blue skies that much more. I can generally even tolerate the cold and damp that seems to seep into every corner of the house. There is no toasty warm feeling when you walk in from out of the cold, only a slight less cold feeling.
I think what astounds me the most about English weather is that it is so... abrupt. There is none of the 'transition period' that exists in the states. There are no brisk mornings that melt into pleasantly warm afternoons, easing the switch from summer to fall. No. In England, we had weather that was in the mid to upper 80s, sunny, bright, swelteringly hot even. I went so far as to switch to my lightest duvet.
One week later, it went grey, cold, and hasn't peaked past 60. I've taken to sleeping in sweats and using my fleece blanket (although I haven't caved on the heavier duvet yet. I'm still holding on to hope). We've even turned on the heat for first thing in the morning when my other flatmates get up for work. It's hardly the end of September and I'm bundled up in blankets and I honestly debated bringing out my winter coat the other day. I'm sure, come November, I'll be talking about how we had a balmy Autumn, and this unpleasant and sudden switch from summer to late Autumn will feel like a distant memory. But seriously, England? Can we get at least a few warm days?
Normally, the weather here doesn't bother me too much. I'm fairly productive when it's grey and rainy, and since that is most of the time, I'm pretty good about getting my work done. The few days that it is brilliantly sunny and pleasant makes those days even more wonderful; the grey makes you appreciate the blue skies that much more. I can generally even tolerate the cold and damp that seems to seep into every corner of the house. There is no toasty warm feeling when you walk in from out of the cold, only a slight less cold feeling.
I think what astounds me the most about English weather is that it is so... abrupt. There is none of the 'transition period' that exists in the states. There are no brisk mornings that melt into pleasantly warm afternoons, easing the switch from summer to fall. No. In England, we had weather that was in the mid to upper 80s, sunny, bright, swelteringly hot even. I went so far as to switch to my lightest duvet.
One week later, it went grey, cold, and hasn't peaked past 60. I've taken to sleeping in sweats and using my fleece blanket (although I haven't caved on the heavier duvet yet. I'm still holding on to hope). We've even turned on the heat for first thing in the morning when my other flatmates get up for work. It's hardly the end of September and I'm bundled up in blankets and I honestly debated bringing out my winter coat the other day. I'm sure, come November, I'll be talking about how we had a balmy Autumn, and this unpleasant and sudden switch from summer to late Autumn will feel like a distant memory. But seriously, England? Can we get at least a few warm days?
Sunday, September 1, 2013
My Dissertation
There is something about a looming deadline that makes me very productive. The problem is that my productivity involves getting every thing else that I needed to get done finished instead of whatever it is that is due. My dissertation has been sitting at a lamentable (and laughable) 10,000 words for the past two weeks, I only need another 3500 to hit the minimum word count, 5000 to hit the maximum. The problem is that I can think of about 100 hundred other things that I could do instead.
20 Things I've Done INSTEAD of my Dissertation:
1. Cleaned my room.
2. Reorganised my books.
3. Done laundry.
4. Gone to Scotland.
5. Read a 400 page book.
6. Read another 400 page book.
7. Caught up on some movies I've never seen, such as When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, and Magic Mike.
8. Found out Cleopatra is a 4 hour long movie and watched it anyway.
9. Caught up on some movies I've seen about a hundred times, such as The Swan Princess, Up, The Rescuers Down Under, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
10. Watched 3 seasons of Qi.
11. Gone rock climbing.
12. Gone running.
13. Wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles of Sainsbury's.
14. Wandered around London to look at hidden gardens.
15. Looked at flats on spareroom even though I'm not moving for at least a year.
16. Looked at flights to see where Sean and I should travel to next.
17. Looked at just about every cute cat picture on the internet.
18. Caught up on Jenna Marbles.
19. Folded origami.
20. Looked at desk organisers, and desks, decided against all of them.
So that, ladies and gentleman, is how I've avoided doing any work for the past few weeks. Good for me. And now I guess I can add "wrote a blog post" to that as well....
20 Things I've Done INSTEAD of my Dissertation:
1. Cleaned my room.
2. Reorganised my books.
3. Done laundry.
4. Gone to Scotland.
5. Read a 400 page book.
6. Read another 400 page book.
7. Caught up on some movies I've never seen, such as When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, and Magic Mike.
8. Found out Cleopatra is a 4 hour long movie and watched it anyway.
9. Caught up on some movies I've seen about a hundred times, such as The Swan Princess, Up, The Rescuers Down Under, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
10. Watched 3 seasons of Qi.
11. Gone rock climbing.
12. Gone running.
13. Wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles of Sainsbury's.
14. Wandered around London to look at hidden gardens.
15. Looked at flats on spareroom even though I'm not moving for at least a year.
16. Looked at flights to see where Sean and I should travel to next.
17. Looked at just about every cute cat picture on the internet.
18. Caught up on Jenna Marbles.
19. Folded origami.
20. Looked at desk organisers, and desks, decided against all of them.
So that, ladies and gentleman, is how I've avoided doing any work for the past few weeks. Good for me. And now I guess I can add "wrote a blog post" to that as well....
Friday, July 26, 2013
Patience
I have some of the best siblings in the world. I really do. They're supportive, they know how to make me laugh, and I know, no matter what, they will be there for me if I need them.
In a time where I feel completely ungrounded and homeless, torn between two countries and three families and who knows how many responsibilities, I know I can count on them to help me through. I have these two wonderful safety nets, and I am going to miss them like crazy when I head back to England. I never really realised how hard being away is until I come back. I don't know if I really am willing to give that up permanently, or even for longer than this program. I don't know anymore. I know myself well enough to know that I flip flop back and forth enough between these emotions that I'm sure within a month of being back I'm going to be so sold on England that I won't believe I ever wrote this post.
I guess the main focus is that I need to be patient. I need to know my limitations with people, with my own family, and I need to let go. This isn't home anymore, and I need to figure out what is.
In a time where I feel completely ungrounded and homeless, torn between two countries and three families and who knows how many responsibilities, I know I can count on them to help me through. I have these two wonderful safety nets, and I am going to miss them like crazy when I head back to England. I never really realised how hard being away is until I come back. I don't know if I really am willing to give that up permanently, or even for longer than this program. I don't know anymore. I know myself well enough to know that I flip flop back and forth enough between these emotions that I'm sure within a month of being back I'm going to be so sold on England that I won't believe I ever wrote this post.
I guess the main focus is that I need to be patient. I need to know my limitations with people, with my own family, and I need to let go. This isn't home anymore, and I need to figure out what is.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Two more days
Hey all,
As I sit here in the tiny little common room in my flat, staring out into the darkness that has fallen over London, I'm thinking pretty heavily how things will be different in just two days time. In less than 48 hours I will be on a plane on my way back home for the longest I've been home in 9 months. It's a little surreal.
I know this post is along the same veins as the last one I put up, but I've been thinking a lot about how things will be different in the next two months, much less the next two years. There's going to be a lot that I'm going to miss.
First off is where I live (and who I live with). I live with one of my best friend's ever, and I'm really going to miss her when I head back home. It's good to have a buddy to cook with, or hang out with, or even to just go and do stupid shopping with. I'm going to be on my own a lot during the days when I'm home, everyone I know has a 'normal' job. I'm sure I'll do a lot of visiting and I'll spend a lot of time doing work, but I'm going to really miss the atmosphere of living with people my age and in my situation. I'm going to miss Kelsey's ridiculous food OCD when it comes to dissecting chicken, and also just having stupid stuff to talk about and ridiculous videos to watch. I'm going to definitely miss having a drinking partner, and a climbing partner (and a climbing gym).
I'm going to miss being in the city, where if you want to, you can just walk out the door and explore. I've spent hours walking around Hyde and Regent's Park, going up and down the South Bank, or just wandering down Oxford Street. I'm not looking forward to paying for gas again, or having to deal with traffic. The tube and bus are great ways to mindlessly get around. How else am I supposed to feed my Solitaire addiction?
Thursdays at the Betsy Smith are definitely going to be missed. Nothing like getting a great group of people together for delicious pizza, awesome 2-for-1 cocktails, totally inappropriate conversation, and ridiculous 90s music. Plus it's just a stumble down the road!
I'm going to miss feeling like I'm in charge of my life. I don't think I'll have that same sense when I go back to Philly. I won't be living in my own place where I contribute to rent, which already puts you into a weird position of owing. It'll be interesting to see how it works out.
Obviously I'm going to miss Sean. I feel like that might be the hardest part about this whole trip. I hate the 5 hour difference, and I've gotten so used to him being a part of my everyday life. I don't think we've gone a day without talking since we started dating, even when I was in Ireland we still made time to chat for a little bit. I've actually never gone this long without seeing each other ever, in any relationship. It's scary, especially since we haven't been dating for all that long, two months apart is a pretty significant chunk of our relationship alone. I know we'll be okay, but it still worries me slightly.
Anyway, I'm hoping to fill my days with productivity. I hope my normally (week)day will go as follows:
8:30 - wake up
9:00 - get on the treadmill or out for a run
10:00 - eat you some breakfast (probably yogurt and muesli with blueberries, because I'm oh-so-original)
10:30 - shower
11:00 - work on some chemistry review
1:00 - lunch
2:00 - work on dissertation, I want to have 2000 words a week (I'm already behind by about 500)
4:00 - maybe hang out by the pool if it's nice, if not, blow through to 6:00
6:00-8:00 (whenever I'm actually hungry) make and eat dinner
9:00-12:00 more work/dissertation/chemistry review/note-taking/transcription
12:30 - bed
I'm betting it doesn't make it a week, but I do want to start getting back into running. It was so miserable here for so long that I couldn't bear the thought of running outside, and I didn't really want to fight for a spot on a treadmill at the school gym (or drag my bag of gym stuff that far).
Here's hoping I'll be productive! And fill my hours so I can't miss England too much.
As I sit here in the tiny little common room in my flat, staring out into the darkness that has fallen over London, I'm thinking pretty heavily how things will be different in just two days time. In less than 48 hours I will be on a plane on my way back home for the longest I've been home in 9 months. It's a little surreal.
I know this post is along the same veins as the last one I put up, but I've been thinking a lot about how things will be different in the next two months, much less the next two years. There's going to be a lot that I'm going to miss.
First off is where I live (and who I live with). I live with one of my best friend's ever, and I'm really going to miss her when I head back home. It's good to have a buddy to cook with, or hang out with, or even to just go and do stupid shopping with. I'm going to be on my own a lot during the days when I'm home, everyone I know has a 'normal' job. I'm sure I'll do a lot of visiting and I'll spend a lot of time doing work, but I'm going to really miss the atmosphere of living with people my age and in my situation. I'm going to miss Kelsey's ridiculous food OCD when it comes to dissecting chicken, and also just having stupid stuff to talk about and ridiculous videos to watch. I'm going to definitely miss having a drinking partner, and a climbing partner (and a climbing gym).
I'm going to miss being in the city, where if you want to, you can just walk out the door and explore. I've spent hours walking around Hyde and Regent's Park, going up and down the South Bank, or just wandering down Oxford Street. I'm not looking forward to paying for gas again, or having to deal with traffic. The tube and bus are great ways to mindlessly get around. How else am I supposed to feed my Solitaire addiction?
Thursdays at the Betsy Smith are definitely going to be missed. Nothing like getting a great group of people together for delicious pizza, awesome 2-for-1 cocktails, totally inappropriate conversation, and ridiculous 90s music. Plus it's just a stumble down the road!
I'm going to miss feeling like I'm in charge of my life. I don't think I'll have that same sense when I go back to Philly. I won't be living in my own place where I contribute to rent, which already puts you into a weird position of owing. It'll be interesting to see how it works out.
Obviously I'm going to miss Sean. I feel like that might be the hardest part about this whole trip. I hate the 5 hour difference, and I've gotten so used to him being a part of my everyday life. I don't think we've gone a day without talking since we started dating, even when I was in Ireland we still made time to chat for a little bit. I've actually never gone this long without seeing each other ever, in any relationship. It's scary, especially since we haven't been dating for all that long, two months apart is a pretty significant chunk of our relationship alone. I know we'll be okay, but it still worries me slightly.
Anyway, I'm hoping to fill my days with productivity. I hope my normally (week)day will go as follows:
8:30 - wake up
9:00 - get on the treadmill or out for a run
10:00 - eat you some breakfast (probably yogurt and muesli with blueberries, because I'm oh-so-original)
10:30 - shower
11:00 - work on some chemistry review
1:00 - lunch
2:00 - work on dissertation, I want to have 2000 words a week (I'm already behind by about 500)
4:00 - maybe hang out by the pool if it's nice, if not, blow through to 6:00
6:00-8:00 (whenever I'm actually hungry) make and eat dinner
9:00-12:00 more work/dissertation/chemistry review/note-taking/transcription
12:30 - bed
I'm betting it doesn't make it a week, but I do want to start getting back into running. It was so miserable here for so long that I couldn't bear the thought of running outside, and I didn't really want to fight for a spot on a treadmill at the school gym (or drag my bag of gym stuff that far).
Here's hoping I'll be productive! And fill my hours so I can't miss England too much.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Countdown to Home
This page is a method of procrastination.
Today is 3 June, 2013. In 4 days I will be in Madrid, in 16 I will be on a plane, heading back to the United States for approximately 2 months. This date has crept up on me much quicker than I thought it would, just a few days ago it felt like I had ages before I'd be flying 'home'.
The problem is, beyond deadlines and schoolwork stress, beyond missing the lifestyle and independence that I've gotten accustomed to being over here, I feel as though Pennsylvania 'home' isn't really home anymore. Don't get me wrong, I've missed my friends and family and I am really excited to see them all, but I feel like I'm leaving a pretty solid chunk of who I am here in Kilburn.
I've never thought I would take to city life. It's noisy (there are sirens flying down the High Road as I type, and I guarantee that around 12.30-1.00 the people downstairs will start their normal shuffling noises), it's dirty, there are weird people everywhere (some that want to just catcall at you, some which you avoid because you're 90% certain there's nobody home upstairs), and it's busy with the constant pushing of people trying to get places or tourists trying to block traffic. My flat is small, it's not glamorous, the paint is peeling on one of the walls and during the fall/winter we had a bad case of mould because of the persistent cool and damp. There are four people and only one bathroom, no dishwasher, and the oven takes 20 minutes to preheat and has only one rack.
The thing is, I love it. There's a wonderful feeling of anonymity that you get in a city, which I suppose could be daunting, but I love it. It has made it more difficult to meet people, I will grant that, but there's also a level of freedom associated with it. I am responsible for only myself. I can come and go as I please, my days are mine to do what I will with them (right now, that means putting of the literal pile of books that I have to read, process, and write a literary review on to write a nonsense bit of blog post). I don't have people constantly checking up on me, I haven't spoken to my family in longer than is probably appropriate to admit.
I'm a little terrified of the culture shock of going home and being at the mercy of other people's schedules. I'm not looking forward to living in a house where I will be questioned about what I have accomplished that day, or how my dissertation is coming along, or whatever. I want to relax by the pool, visit museums, write, draw, do whatever and not be harassed. It may be difficult to do that.
I'm also feeling crushed by the impending deadlines. I have the literature review and detailed outline with sources due in a week (four of those days will be in Spain and will leave me accomplishing nothing), I have an interview with a museum tomorrow to gather research and a meeting with my advisor the day following. I'm worried I won't have anything to report on since most of my research is stuck in the late 80s/early 90s. As it is, it's almost 11 pm over here and I'm starting to feel a little tired after a long day of reboxing people at the museum, and tomorrow is going to be early as well. And the day after. And the day after.... and the day after.
This post has lost its focus (not unlike its author), so perhaps it should be left at that. I'm sure once I start writing, life will be easier. Until then, just keep swimming.
Today is 3 June, 2013. In 4 days I will be in Madrid, in 16 I will be on a plane, heading back to the United States for approximately 2 months. This date has crept up on me much quicker than I thought it would, just a few days ago it felt like I had ages before I'd be flying 'home'.
The problem is, beyond deadlines and schoolwork stress, beyond missing the lifestyle and independence that I've gotten accustomed to being over here, I feel as though Pennsylvania 'home' isn't really home anymore. Don't get me wrong, I've missed my friends and family and I am really excited to see them all, but I feel like I'm leaving a pretty solid chunk of who I am here in Kilburn.
I've never thought I would take to city life. It's noisy (there are sirens flying down the High Road as I type, and I guarantee that around 12.30-1.00 the people downstairs will start their normal shuffling noises), it's dirty, there are weird people everywhere (some that want to just catcall at you, some which you avoid because you're 90% certain there's nobody home upstairs), and it's busy with the constant pushing of people trying to get places or tourists trying to block traffic. My flat is small, it's not glamorous, the paint is peeling on one of the walls and during the fall/winter we had a bad case of mould because of the persistent cool and damp. There are four people and only one bathroom, no dishwasher, and the oven takes 20 minutes to preheat and has only one rack.
The thing is, I love it. There's a wonderful feeling of anonymity that you get in a city, which I suppose could be daunting, but I love it. It has made it more difficult to meet people, I will grant that, but there's also a level of freedom associated with it. I am responsible for only myself. I can come and go as I please, my days are mine to do what I will with them (right now, that means putting of the literal pile of books that I have to read, process, and write a literary review on to write a nonsense bit of blog post). I don't have people constantly checking up on me, I haven't spoken to my family in longer than is probably appropriate to admit.
I'm a little terrified of the culture shock of going home and being at the mercy of other people's schedules. I'm not looking forward to living in a house where I will be questioned about what I have accomplished that day, or how my dissertation is coming along, or whatever. I want to relax by the pool, visit museums, write, draw, do whatever and not be harassed. It may be difficult to do that.
I'm also feeling crushed by the impending deadlines. I have the literature review and detailed outline with sources due in a week (four of those days will be in Spain and will leave me accomplishing nothing), I have an interview with a museum tomorrow to gather research and a meeting with my advisor the day following. I'm worried I won't have anything to report on since most of my research is stuck in the late 80s/early 90s. As it is, it's almost 11 pm over here and I'm starting to feel a little tired after a long day of reboxing people at the museum, and tomorrow is going to be early as well. And the day after. And the day after.... and the day after.
This post has lost its focus (not unlike its author), so perhaps it should be left at that. I'm sure once I start writing, life will be easier. Until then, just keep swimming.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Dover Castle
I would say that we went to Dover to see the castle, but that would be a lie. We went to Dover to see the famous chalk cliffs, and to see if we could get a peek at the French coast across the Channel. However, with Dover being a solid 4 hour round trip journey, it didn't seem to make much sense to just pop down for an hour and then back. So to the castle we went.
I will say that coming in to Dover is... unimpressive. There are some cute little houses and churches and then, right by the bus depot, there is sort of just... nothing. We had to wander a bit to find a Costa to satiate the caffeine deprived needs (well, at least Kelsey and mine), and even walking down the main thoroughfare lead to a sense of "meh." But up high on a hill, towering over everything else, nestled on top of those majestic white cliffs, was the Castle. And it was as impressive as anything I've ever seen.
The walk up there nearly killed us (from a purely out-of-shape point of view). It's a pretty steep climb and it is daunting at times to try to force your way up. In all honesty, it can't have been more than a half mile. Either way, up we went, the bright English sunshine beaming down upon us (how often do I get to type that phrase??).
Dover Castle is immense. There is a very small part of it that is in ruin (some dating back to the 11th or 12th century, I'm not sure which), and every inch of it just about is open to the public to explore. You don't get that kind of freedom in most places, nor are most places kept up to this kind of standard. Please note, I have not visited every castle in England, but the ones that I have seen have not been like this. INSANE.
Besides housing a pretty sweet castle and a massive manor that, unfortunately, wasn't open for whatever reason, there are also secret tunnels. Do I need to repeat that? SECRET. TUNNELS. I can't even. Part of them are from medieval times, which you can wander around and get hopelessly lost in, but the other ones (Napoleonic and WWII) are free and clear to go into and have been reinterpreted with some of the best tours I have ever been a part of. There is an underground hospital which has flickering lights and overheard conversations, along with smells that are imported in to make the experience that much more 'real.' Then there are the war tunnels where they show the rooms and history behind the evacuation of Dunkirk, which is a pretty emotional and insane story in and of itself.
All in all, we spent 6 hours at the castle (this is partly due to the fact that one of my friends has to see EVERYTHING that is available. Everything.) and a grand total of maybe 35 minutes at the Cliffs (which I would like to go back to and hike properly wearing the appropriate footwear). Dover Castle, guys. Go there. Live it up.
I will say that coming in to Dover is... unimpressive. There are some cute little houses and churches and then, right by the bus depot, there is sort of just... nothing. We had to wander a bit to find a Costa to satiate the caffeine deprived needs (well, at least Kelsey and mine), and even walking down the main thoroughfare lead to a sense of "meh." But up high on a hill, towering over everything else, nestled on top of those majestic white cliffs, was the Castle. And it was as impressive as anything I've ever seen.
The walk up there nearly killed us (from a purely out-of-shape point of view). It's a pretty steep climb and it is daunting at times to try to force your way up. In all honesty, it can't have been more than a half mile. Either way, up we went, the bright English sunshine beaming down upon us (how often do I get to type that phrase??).
Dover Castle is immense. There is a very small part of it that is in ruin (some dating back to the 11th or 12th century, I'm not sure which), and every inch of it just about is open to the public to explore. You don't get that kind of freedom in most places, nor are most places kept up to this kind of standard. Please note, I have not visited every castle in England, but the ones that I have seen have not been like this. INSANE.
Besides housing a pretty sweet castle and a massive manor that, unfortunately, wasn't open for whatever reason, there are also secret tunnels. Do I need to repeat that? SECRET. TUNNELS. I can't even. Part of them are from medieval times, which you can wander around and get hopelessly lost in, but the other ones (Napoleonic and WWII) are free and clear to go into and have been reinterpreted with some of the best tours I have ever been a part of. There is an underground hospital which has flickering lights and overheard conversations, along with smells that are imported in to make the experience that much more 'real.' Then there are the war tunnels where they show the rooms and history behind the evacuation of Dunkirk, which is a pretty emotional and insane story in and of itself.
All in all, we spent 6 hours at the castle (this is partly due to the fact that one of my friends has to see EVERYTHING that is available. Everything.) and a grand total of maybe 35 minutes at the Cliffs (which I would like to go back to and hike properly wearing the appropriate footwear). Dover Castle, guys. Go there. Live it up.
Monday, May 13, 2013
A Whirlwind Weekend (or: In which I am actually good at surprises)
For those of you who know me fairly well, you may have noticed I am terrible with surprises. It happens with every birthday, holiday, little gift from the store, or trip I go on. I can't help it. I get so excited about how much whoever it is is going to love it that I just let it slip.
That is why I am amazed that I was able to pull this past weekend off. Approximately 3 months ago, I got the idea in my head that I really, really wanted to surprise my sister. She and I hadn't been able to talk as much as I would have liked to, between schedules and time differences it had been hard to keep in touch. I knew that she was stressed about the wedding and that she was really bummed that I wasn't going to make the bridal shower. I decided I needed to be there, despite being in a different country and being kind of broke, I knew that it would be the best surprise ever.
After a few phone calls to make sure someone could actually get me from the airport and to make sure I wasn't being completely insane, I booked the flight back for the weekend. And then I had a second idea: It's Mother's Day the day after. Wouldn't Mom just about lose it if I was home for that, too?
And so the great "lie your face off to everyone" tactic began. Facebook posts, emails, FaceTime sessions that all expressed how sad I was I wouldn't be able to make it. I only told 3 people who were directly involved with Steph and Mom that I was coming back home: my dad, brother, and Steph's best friend. Apparently keeping the secret from Steph was killing Jamie, she avoided Steph for the past 3 weeks to prevent letting it slip.
Friday afternoon, Sean dropped me at the airport. I climbed onboard and in 8 hours was landing in Philly where Geoff was ready to get me. Dad was en route from a dinner at the same time, Steph was having a few of the bridesmaids and friends over to help make the centrepieces for the wedding. Dad and Geoff headed into the house through the main door, while I snuck around to the back door where everyone was hanging out. Once I saw they were inside, I knocked on the glass (there's a curtain so you can't really see out onto the deck), and Steph answered the door.
She completely lost it. Crying, excited hugging, high pitched screaming out of excitement and a lot of "I can't believe you're here!"s. That was probably the most gratifying moment, and I hope that it really made the weekend that much better for her.
The next day (Saturday) was the actual bridal shower, where I surprised my mom. My brother had called me to let me know she was walking in the door, and when I came around the corner she dropped her keys and basically repeated the exact same thing my sister did (it runs in the family, my grandmother was with her, and she was going through the crying/hugging/'I can't believe it"s as well).
All in all, it was a pretty kick ass weekend. My sister got her maid-of-honor to be at her bridal shower, my mom got to have all of her kids together for Mother's Day, and I got to feel like I did something that really mattered to them both. I love to make them smile. :)
Love to you all.
That is why I am amazed that I was able to pull this past weekend off. Approximately 3 months ago, I got the idea in my head that I really, really wanted to surprise my sister. She and I hadn't been able to talk as much as I would have liked to, between schedules and time differences it had been hard to keep in touch. I knew that she was stressed about the wedding and that she was really bummed that I wasn't going to make the bridal shower. I decided I needed to be there, despite being in a different country and being kind of broke, I knew that it would be the best surprise ever.
After a few phone calls to make sure someone could actually get me from the airport and to make sure I wasn't being completely insane, I booked the flight back for the weekend. And then I had a second idea: It's Mother's Day the day after. Wouldn't Mom just about lose it if I was home for that, too?
And so the great "lie your face off to everyone" tactic began. Facebook posts, emails, FaceTime sessions that all expressed how sad I was I wouldn't be able to make it. I only told 3 people who were directly involved with Steph and Mom that I was coming back home: my dad, brother, and Steph's best friend. Apparently keeping the secret from Steph was killing Jamie, she avoided Steph for the past 3 weeks to prevent letting it slip.
Friday afternoon, Sean dropped me at the airport. I climbed onboard and in 8 hours was landing in Philly where Geoff was ready to get me. Dad was en route from a dinner at the same time, Steph was having a few of the bridesmaids and friends over to help make the centrepieces for the wedding. Dad and Geoff headed into the house through the main door, while I snuck around to the back door where everyone was hanging out. Once I saw they were inside, I knocked on the glass (there's a curtain so you can't really see out onto the deck), and Steph answered the door.
She completely lost it. Crying, excited hugging, high pitched screaming out of excitement and a lot of "I can't believe you're here!"s. That was probably the most gratifying moment, and I hope that it really made the weekend that much better for her.
The next day (Saturday) was the actual bridal shower, where I surprised my mom. My brother had called me to let me know she was walking in the door, and when I came around the corner she dropped her keys and basically repeated the exact same thing my sister did (it runs in the family, my grandmother was with her, and she was going through the crying/hugging/'I can't believe it"s as well).
All in all, it was a pretty kick ass weekend. My sister got her maid-of-honor to be at her bridal shower, my mom got to have all of her kids together for Mother's Day, and I got to feel like I did something that really mattered to them both. I love to make them smile. :)
Love to you all.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Thoughts
I think that being passionate is a a wonderful thing. To love something, or someone, completely is something that people don't get to experience.
I used to think that having these swings, being ecstatic or being crushed, was a terrible thing. I like to think that it's more just about being alive, and letting myself actually feel. It's incredible, to be moved by little things or simple beauty. I want people to feel that.
I know this post doesn't make much sense, but I think it's one of those things I needed to get out. It's important to let ourselves feel. It is much to easy to stop living and feeling in a world that is more and more electronically based. It's easy to forget how to let things happen and to let go.
I used to think that having these swings, being ecstatic or being crushed, was a terrible thing. I like to think that it's more just about being alive, and letting myself actually feel. It's incredible, to be moved by little things or simple beauty. I want people to feel that.
I know this post doesn't make much sense, but I think it's one of those things I needed to get out. It's important to let ourselves feel. It is much to easy to stop living and feeling in a world that is more and more electronically based. It's easy to forget how to let things happen and to let go.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
A Year in Review
A year ago today, my grandfather passed away. He'd had a long struggle with cancer, and it eventually spread and took over. I hadn't realised just how drastically it had changed him, how thin he had become, how weak.
This post is not about what he deteriorated into.
This post is about what I wish he had been here for.
Before my grandfather died, the last time I saw him he said something very important to me. He was lying in his bed in the living room, looking up at a family portrait that had been taken during one of my more awkward years. He took my hand and said this to me:
"Look at these faces. I know you've struggled for a long time, not feeling like you fit in. You don't feel like you belong with the Lozanos or the Peirces. But why the hell would you want to be like them? You are unique, you have always been. Stop worrying about trying to be someone else, be the wonderful person you are."
A few days later, my grandfather was gone. I hadn't heard back from Delaware about my rejection to graduate school (again), I hadn't applied in a fit of pure impudence to this program in London, I hadn't quit my job, moved my life, and started down a path to making myself truly happy. He won't see my sister get married, he won't meet her kids, or mine if I have them. He won't ever meet the man I marry or see me succeed or watch my cousins graduate.
But I like to think that he'd be so proud of me today. A year ago, I was a different person. The person I was then would never have made this change. The person I was would not have embraced who I am and who I want to be. She was afraid, and I'm not any more. I'd like to thank him for that.
You've been greatly missed this year, Papa. I love you always.
This post is not about what he deteriorated into.
This post is about what I wish he had been here for.
Before my grandfather died, the last time I saw him he said something very important to me. He was lying in his bed in the living room, looking up at a family portrait that had been taken during one of my more awkward years. He took my hand and said this to me:
"Look at these faces. I know you've struggled for a long time, not feeling like you fit in. You don't feel like you belong with the Lozanos or the Peirces. But why the hell would you want to be like them? You are unique, you have always been. Stop worrying about trying to be someone else, be the wonderful person you are."
A few days later, my grandfather was gone. I hadn't heard back from Delaware about my rejection to graduate school (again), I hadn't applied in a fit of pure impudence to this program in London, I hadn't quit my job, moved my life, and started down a path to making myself truly happy. He won't see my sister get married, he won't meet her kids, or mine if I have them. He won't ever meet the man I marry or see me succeed or watch my cousins graduate.
But I like to think that he'd be so proud of me today. A year ago, I was a different person. The person I was then would never have made this change. The person I was would not have embraced who I am and who I want to be. She was afraid, and I'm not any more. I'd like to thank him for that.
You've been greatly missed this year, Papa. I love you always.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Bummer
Relationships are great, right?
Well, yes, they can be. Especially in the honeymoon phase where you're all stupidly starry-eyed and no one has done anything wrong yet. This is my favourite phase of the relationship. I love this phase. You're just past being worried about scaring them away with your giant bag of crazy past history, but you haven't gotten to the point where the magic is completely gone.
That being said, I friggin' suck as a friend during this phase. I disappear. I get so wrapped up in this new whatever that I just want to spend as much time as humanly possible with my significant other and completely ignore the rest of the world. What's worse is that I know I do it. I know. I see myself go and make plans with my significant other and not leave a second of time for anyone else. What sucks is that it is rarely the s.o.'s fault. It's completely mine. This little beauty of a personality defect is 100% me oriented. Not only will I ignore friends who kept me company when I was lonely and trying to adjust, or family members who are trying to get a hold of me to make sure I'm alive, but I'll also blow off school work and readings just so I can spend more time in that little perfect sphere.
I need to change this.
It is not healthy.
Well, yes, they can be. Especially in the honeymoon phase where you're all stupidly starry-eyed and no one has done anything wrong yet. This is my favourite phase of the relationship. I love this phase. You're just past being worried about scaring them away with your giant bag of crazy past history, but you haven't gotten to the point where the magic is completely gone.
That being said, I friggin' suck as a friend during this phase. I disappear. I get so wrapped up in this new whatever that I just want to spend as much time as humanly possible with my significant other and completely ignore the rest of the world. What's worse is that I know I do it. I know. I see myself go and make plans with my significant other and not leave a second of time for anyone else. What sucks is that it is rarely the s.o.'s fault. It's completely mine. This little beauty of a personality defect is 100% me oriented. Not only will I ignore friends who kept me company when I was lonely and trying to adjust, or family members who are trying to get a hold of me to make sure I'm alive, but I'll also blow off school work and readings just so I can spend more time in that little perfect sphere.
I need to change this.
It is not healthy.
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