Culture

I worked a wedding reception just down the hill from my house today, expecting it to be for a nice little Mormon couple, complete with the classic mom with boofy hair, overly-jolly father-in-law, and 10 little brothers running wildly between guests or grazing at the buffet table in hopes of snagging a date with their new in-laws. To my surprise it was a Hispanic couple from Mexico, and I was enchanted by their language and culture.

I've never wanted to know Spanish so bad. Between the wedding reception and picking up rental chairs from a company whose labor force consists of solely Spanish-speakers, I was at a disadvantage language wise most of the day. A majority of the patrons at the reception had very good English and if they didn't, the person next to them did. But it was frustrating to not be able to communicate completely. Spanish really is quite a beautiful language when you stop and listen to the sounds. It's a fluid motion. The words don't seem to have spaces or ebbs, just a constant flow of rolling and sliding sounds turning over and over in their mouths. I think it probably tastes good to speak.

My only experiences with Spanish otherwise have consisted of getting hit up for business in the flee markets of Mexico, listening to loud, obnoxious high schoolers, or flipping through the channels and hearing snippets of a heated conversation in some foreign soap opera. Needless to say, these abbreviated encounters didn't make much of a positive impression on me. Now I know better.

Not only did their language sweep me away, but their culture and their traditions made me wish that I had some sort of traditional customs in my family. Why is it that all the "Scandinavians" or the "Eastern or Western Europeans" some how lost their culture and diversity when they came to the states? It's like the oceans that divide the U.S. from the rest of the world some how wash away traditions and leave everyone in a barren, cultural vacuum. I wonder what traditions my French or Welsh ancestors had. Did they do something special on their wedding day like this mysitcal, newly-wed couple? Did they have dances that everyone knew so they could all move and sway in unity, like some sort of celebration and reaffirmation that yes, they do belong to a beautifully distinct and different heritage?

I wish I could dance like the people I descend from. I wish my ancestor's heritage and ways of life could have been preserved and infused into my own life. Is it possible, that it is? Could it be that I am a living testimony of my heritage, but it is so normal and mundane to me now that I don't even realize or appreciate it?

Who am I?

Landed

I'm here, moved into my new domain, my new space, my seemingly completely new life. How is it possible that just a few hours and a couple boxes can totally jolt your world?

Melissa and I went early to "check in" but decided that we were too hungry to start moving in all of our stuff. And maybe a little part of us wanted to postpone the move just a little longer so we could still feel grounded. We had french toast. She likes to dip hers in syrup. I'd rather pour it all over on top. Nuances like these I'm sure will continue to grace our experience living together.

It didn't feel real when I walked in the door. Actually, that's not completely true. It did feel real. It felt like a completely real EFY. I was just waiting for a super, pseudo-happy, bubbly counselor to knock on the door and give me a Blow-Pop. No such luck. Instead I was greeted by strangers, a room mate, Jilian, who by my initial appraisal seemed to be a nice and cheery person, and her entire moving crew (aka: family). My moving crew consisted of Michelle. She was great to come and help me haul my mangy egg boxes from grandma's house, bins, and containers of various shapes and sizes up three flights of stairs to my new abode.

Once it was all moved in, the shock that it was for real hit me. I surveyed the scene, trying to decide how I felt about this rite of passage. The only response my sense sent me were butterflies, so I concluded that excitement was the way to feel and Michelle and I started the process of organizing the mass of stuff that we shoved into my itty-bitty living space. It looked like the drop-off zone at D.I. minus the foreign, spanish-speaking workers who put it all away for you. Nothing I brought fit into its box. The contents of everything were spilling in all matter of directions and the mess was nothing short of amazing. I've been accused of having OCD but I think my packing job could prove otherwise.

It's all in now, settled neatly onto shelves and nestled into bins and drawers. It's incredible it all fit. When Melissa and my stuff was everywhere, I was skeptical, but organizational skills were at work as we played Tetris with our things and put it all away.

I think I'm going to like it here. It's "cozy" to say the least.

Need

Not The One You Need

I'm still praying for some closure
A way to make myself sure
That I can walk far away from you

So let's get out of our old feet
And walk on to a brand new street
Get away from the mess we have created slowly

Why can't you see
That i'm not the one you need
I'm just the one who makes you bleed
Take it from me
You're wise to walk the other way
You know what happens when we stay
Here too long

I knew you wouldn't struggle
As I tried to put you under
You see you're just too nice to me

And that's why you make it so hard
Cause I know that you're the one who's scarred
And I'm the one doing all the damage, all the damage to you

Why can't you see
That I'm not the one you need
I'm just the one who makes you bleed
Take it from me
Bruises sustained shouldn't make you stay
It should turn your heart another way
But you hold on

(Hold on...)

I thought I heard you whipsering
When you thought that I was sleeping
But what you said didn't mean so much to me

And I know we could never make it
Because I just don't want to fake it
I think my heart is hidden, is hidden 'cross the sea

Why can't you see
That I'm not the one you need
I'm just the one who makes you bleed
Take it from me
I love you in a different light

Launching

It is only appropriate to start a blog as I embark on numerous other "firsts." Today's task was a commencement of sorts--packing. Never before have I delved so deeply into the fuzzy corners of my closet and room, only to discover scraps of things that, once strung together, make up my memories. Sometimes it took a moment to find the file in my brain that stored the memory to unlock the secret of the object I found. I stumbled upon droves of letters and a horde of every ticket stub to every movie, theatrical performance, concert or other such ticketed event I have attended in the last, oh many five years, of my life. Why did I save all of those? Perhaps it's to remind me just how much money I've spent on entertainment over the years...or maybe to remind me of all the fun things I've done with people I love to be around. I realized just how many t-shirts I have but never wear, yet still fold and place on my shelf, and just how many pairs of shoes I have to cram into my new closet. How does one accumulate so much?

It's amazing how chaotic things got in the process of "consolidating" "organizing" and "packing up" my belongings. By mid-day the floor was littered with all sorts of odds and ends and I once again got caught up in reminiscing. Slowly the dingsbums found their way into boxes and some sort of semblance of order. Now that everything is snug in a box at the foot of my spray-painted bunkbed I wonder how I'm supposed to fit all of it into the pocket-sized space allotted to me so generously by BYU.

So ready or not, here I come. The process thus far of stepping in a new direction has been nothing short of tedious and time-consuming and maybe a little tiring, but I am prepared to launch.