hannah ananas

Church, bras, and tangled hair

I was discussing with a co-worker this evening a church that my family attended when I was a baby, and it brought to mind the last time I attended Mass there. We had moved elsewhere for church when I was still quite little, but occasionally still went to Mass there for a while. Eventually, though, we had stopped altogether going there, and always went to one of two other nearby churches. Therefore, it is easy for me to remember the last time I attended Mass at this particular church, because it was a singular event, with no other occurrences within years of its happening.

My youngest brother and I were tasked with going to church together on our own. He was probably 16 or so, making me 12 at the time. I remember how we were hanging out at home, and how he was playing games on the still-new PS2. And I eventually finished getting dressed at the last minute, and we rushed off to Mass.

We ended up having the Mass time incorrect, so we weren’t just a little bit late to Mass. But we stayed, anyway, and attended what little was left of it once we arrived. When we arrived back home, a very unique experience happened, and one which I feel shows how loving we are, my brothers and I. I had worn this top that went on like a tube top – yes, there were sleeves of some sort, or else a sweater that I wore over it, but it went on like a tube top. However, it wasn’t the usual stretchy material of tube tops, but rather a somewhat set-size material with elastic around the top piece to help it stay in place. (I’m almost certain that it had wide-ish straps, but nothing like actual sleeves to it. I remember specifically that I had to wear a strapless bra with it, because of the strap situation, but that is all of which I am certain about the straps – strapless bra required.)

When I went to remove my top, changing out of the nicer clothes and into comfy, regular clothes, I got myself stuck. You know the feeling… pulling it upward first, and, at the pivotal point, feeling the fabric stop sliding and suddenly hold tightly to the width of your currently-expanded shoulder blades… and being incapable of pulling the top back down, because your arms are now stuck up in the air, because the fabric really just doesn’t give almost at all.

So, what could I do but get help? I remember having the slight concern of going to my brother for help, because he would see my bra! my thoughts shouted in whispered tones. It took almost no time to accept the social standard as just that, and then to let it go. I was beginning to panic at being stuck, when I was walking back out into the living room for help from my brother. He easily stopped immediately what he was doing, and came to the rescue. I think it might have actually taken us a good bit of effort to free me, but we eventually succeeded, and I was grateful for his help.

And, what is amazing about this, really, is that neither of us was uncomfortable with the situation. Sure, it was an odd situation – I was already at the point of having been able to dress myself alone successfully for years. But it was still easy for us both, because of our love and care for one another.

As another brief anecdote, I remember a time my oldest brother was babysitting me, and I went to use my mom’s rounded brush, typically used for curling hair while blowdrying, to brush my hair. I did it in a sort of hurry, and somehow twisted the brush while it still had my hair running through it (I had long hair at the time), and began brushing a new spot on my head… ultimately knotting a big chunk of my hair into the brush.

My brother was able to reach my mom on the phone, and she said to check with the neighbors, because the mother there might be able to help unknot my hair. A good, long while later, the neighbor was convinced that my hair had to be cut, in order to remove the brush. I remember my mom’s voice on the phone declaring, “Do not cut her hair,” to my brother. I think it took over an hour, possibly longer, and I don’t remember who finally did it (though my brother, the neighbor, and I all worked on it at times, and my mom might even have had to finish it up when she got home later), but my hair eventually was freed. And I was concerned about ever using that kind of brush in my hair again.

Obviously.

You know, I think those were the worst that ever really happened when my brothers were in charge of babysitting… not bad, I think. 🙂

Post-a-day 2017

Just…oh, man…

Today, I have been in an area that feels like the end of my whits in terms of toleration of things. Even the little things, the ones that usually are very oh, well, whatever to me, evoked strong reactions from me today. To be fair, I did have a good amount of nonsense and frustration today with school. And I am quite tired. I struggled driving home tonight, and it was hardly after 8:30. By 9:00, I was sort of an angry emotional wreck, desperately prepping and eating some food, in a state of distress. Now, showered and sitting on my bed, I have tears edging their way out of me, though I haven’t felt any in waiting all day. (Except for during the really good bits of the opera, of course, but that’s totally different from the rest of the day’s events and emotions.)

I am angry, to at least frustrated, and I’m not sure why… and I worry that it is for health reasons that I am so stressed. Part of me wants to be right, but I think more of me wants to be wrong… and I worry that I am right, anyway.

I’m hardly making sense, I think, so I’ll just go to sleep, possibly sobbing a bit to relieve whatever this is coming up right now. I had a similarly-strong-emotion day this past weekend, and I wonder if they are related to the same underlying concern to which I have considered attributing today’s emotional state.

Anyway… goodnight, please.

Post-a-day 2017

Asian-English teatime with the bff sister

This evening, by a wonderful unfolding of events, I ended up having tea with my best friend’s little sister. As my best friend’s little sister, she holds a sweet spot in my heart. What’s more, the fact that she’s the first person I’ve seen go from little kid, singing nursery-rhyme-type songs, to a mature young adult (and soon full-blown adult), makes that spot even sweeter.

As we sat in the tapioca teahouse, drinking our warm (Taiwanese style, I think – at least, that’s what a friend of mine saw constantly while in Taiwan, and which we haven’t seen much elsewhere) bubble tea, our attention somehow turned to the menu on the wall. Naturally, we hadn’t thought anything special of it when we actually were looking at the menu to order earlier on, but it was suddenly relevant to our conversation, so our attention turned to it. She is studying Mandarin this year (since August), and I’ve just moved here from Japan. So, we have some common ground on understanding Chinese characters. (For those who don’t know, Japanese kind of stole the characters from Chinese, and adapted them a bit, so loads of them look exactly or almost exactly the same and have the same or very similar meanings.)

We joyfully pointed out that “ice” was on the end of each name in the ‘Snowy Drink’ category, and that “little” was next to one other character on the “Snacks” sections – likely ‘little meal’ or ‘little food’. Something like that. And then we discussed how we were scouring the menu, picking out little pieces that we understood. It was like a fun little puzzle that we were putting together, piece by piece… one that we know will take months, even years, but the timing of which doesn’t seem to bother us in the slightest. We’re just excited that we’re able to make the little sense of it all that we already can. And we aren’t even using the same language to do it, technically, making it simultaneously that much sillier and that much more awesome.

So, we got to enjoy one another’s company and be nerdy language-lovers together, while sipping warm asian versions of English tea (Earl Grey) on a cold, cold night (for Houston, anyway). Blessings abound when open our minds and schedules to them, it seems. And I am grateful for this one in particular. 🙂

Post-a-day 2017

Singing, Showering, and liking you better…

Today, I sent a message to my best friend that read, “For some reason, I regularly think about messaging you when I go to the bathroom”

Her response was prompt and simple. “Lol,” followed by, “You like me so much better when youre naked”

“Duh,” was my casual response.

You see, the whole thing started back in college. Freshman year, I was Skype-ing with Christine one day, probably early morning. I had gone into the common room to chat with her, but, since we were in an all-girls dormitory, and it was too early for visitors to be around, I wasn’t fully dressed (probably just a t-shirt and underwear). When we started the call, she let me know that a friend of hers was with her, and that it was a guy (because it was already afternoon in Cambridge, England, so it was normal to be hanging out with people already there). So, I had to go put on some more clothing before we turned on the camera. (At least, I think that was the case… she might have just checked to make sure I was properly clothed, because I regularly would be not fully clothed. Either way, the next part did happen.) When I commented about this, the guy friend of hers made a comment about liking someone so much better naked (I forget if it was about Christine liking me, or what, but it was totally silly, and seemed such an odd comment.) We both were lacking in understanding at first, but he explained that there was an actual song (by Ida Maria), and that that was the line the girl used in it. (See, it made sense and wasn’t actually weird at all.)

The chorus goes like this:

But I won’t mind
If you take me home
Come on, take me home

I won’t mind
if you take off all your clothes
Come on, take them off

‘Cause I like you so much better when you’re naked
I like me so much better when you’re naked
I like you so much better when you’re naked
I like me so much better when you’re naked

We found it hilarious. We found the actual song and music video, and fell in a sort of this is silly and utterly ridiculous, but I still love it kind of love with the song.

I shared it with my hallway neighbor, who played guitar, and we tried playing it a bit on the guitar. I eventually played it for Christine one day on Skype. My greatest, proudest achievement with the song, however, was the time I snuck into the bathrooms (they were shared, and had loads of stalls and multiple showers) one day, just after Jessie, the neighbor, had gone in to shower. Once I knew she was actually in the shower, showering, I walked into the showering area (mind you, not into her stall, just in the showering section of the bathroom), and began playing the song on guitar, and singing it to her. I could hear her snorting, gurgling, guffawing laugher emitting from the shower stall as I sang and played. It was spectacular for the both of us. I shared the story with my best friend, too, and she loved it.*

So, the song has always held a special little place in our hearts, minds, and lives, all three of us. Everyone else probably just thinks we’re crazy, whenever they overhear us mentioning or quoting or singing it. 😛

Here’s a link to the music video.

*This reminds me… I sang to a friend of mine in Japan while she showered one night. We were chatting on the phone, just hanging out one night, after we’d both gotten internet, and so didn’t have to hang up after every five minutes anymore, and she really needed to shower, but we weren’t ready to end our conversation/hanging out. So, she set the phone to the side on speakerphone, and I sang to her while she showered. I had been humming and singing quietly already anyway, so what was the difference if I just did it a little louder, right? It was spectacular, of course. Then a night or few later, when I mentioned to another friend that this had happened, he complained that I didn’t sing for him and that that certainly wasn’t fair. And so I sang to him over the phone… and he fell asleep. 😛 Spectacular in a different sort of way, I guess, but still spectacular. 🙂

Post-a-day 2017

Granny at heart?

I’ve never really been one for people my own age. I’m not sure what it is about me or about them, but I just have never much meshed with people my own age. A recent party was no exception in proving this.

See, I was attending this party, and there were people of various ages. The handful around my own age all got on really well with one another, in a few groups that all would mix and mingle off and on with one another. I was not part of any of them, really, at any point, though various individuals greeted me briefly throughout the evening. Near the end of the party, they all started going on about whether everyone else was going to the afterparty. They weren’t really asking the older folks; just the youngish people, the ones around my own age.

Except, in all of the inviting and discussing, no one ever mentioned the after party to me. And it wasn’t as though it had been announced or anything, and so I had heard all about it, and everyone was invited. No. Someone commented publicly the day before that there would be an afterparty, almost in a joking manner, yes. But, at the actual party, it was a one-on-one or one-on-two topic of discussion. And I was never included in any of those small groups. I only heard the, “Are you going to the afterparty?” questions posed among friends as I passed by them. Multiple times.

And it’s not like I really wanted to go to the afterparty, anyway. They were going to some bar, it sounded like, and in the opposite direction of my home (which was already half an hour away). Neither of those ideas appealed to me. Plus, throw in the factor that I’m not exactly wanted there, and I definitely am less than thrilled at the idea of the afterparty.

The thing is, I wanted to be invited. It hurt ever so slightly that I wasn’t even invited. That I never expected them to invite me made it hurt that much more. I spent most of the party chatting with people quite older than I am (at least a decade or two), and I loved that. It felt almost like I actually belonged in that group. But I still am a tiny bit disappointed that the my-age people seem not to like me. I’m not sure if they dislike me, or if they think I dislike them or something. I am, at the very least, unimportant to them. And, while I don’t really like them all too much, anyway, – I don’t dislike them, let’s be clear – I would invite them along to something, if I were doing something tied to that group of people. I wouldn’t exclude them. I don’t wish the feeling of exclusion on anyone.

Anyway, the bottom line is: I really just don’t get on easily with people my own age most of the time. This party the other night emphasized the fact that this has not changed as I have aged.

Post-a-day 2017

A foreigner at home?

Have you ever felt out of place within your own culture? As time passes, it happens to me more and more often. Last night, I attended an event with coworkers. The noise volume took me by slight surprise when I first arrived. How can people be this loud? I thought. And then I remembered almost before I finished asking the question: They’re americans (from the USA).

But I’m american from the US, too. Wouldn’t I be used to this, then?

I quickly compared it to a drinking party at an izakaya (like a bar) with nomihodai (all-you-can-drink) in Japan. Yes, the Japanese can get quite loud there. It was never to the point of wanting to cover my ears, though, I hear myself thinking. So, I am very much accustomed to a much quieter environment for parties, then. I’m not just being a bit dramatic and overly sensitive to normal behavior and a normal situation.

Even still… I felt so oddly out of place, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with myself. I ended up semi-hiding in the coatroom (it wasn’t a closet, but an actual room, I promise) to take a breather from all the people and the noise from time to time. I also took extra-long any time I went to the bathroom, because it was cozy and quiet in there on my own. Yes, I could have just gone home. However, I rarely spend time even around people who aren’t high schoolers right now, so I felt it was somewhat necessary – even if just for social practice – to spend time around adults, especially happy ones in a good, safe environment.

I definitely adjusted after a bit, but I still felt quite out of place for most of the event. I guess I’m just not so USA american anymore… which doesn’t surprise me, really. It’s just odd, not belonging in a place everyone calls my “home”.

Post-a-day 2017

Life goals(?)

I found myself tonight considering a conversation I had with my cousin several years ago. People were talking about jobs and interviews and moving to work in different countries and kids, and all that jazz. Reviewing it all in my head, as I prepared for bed just now, I wondered about giving things my all. I feel that I never give my all for things. I am certainly not certain of this as a fact – I just mean that I feels as though I never give my all on anything. And I think that is tied in with passion; if I were passionate about something truly, then I would give my all.

But I couldn’t call to mind anywhere that I have given my all. I give a great effort for different things and different times, and oftentimes a much greater effort than someone else has given or would give. However, is it ever my best effort? I think not.

Thinking about this, then, I began to wonder about where my passion lies, such that, when presented with it, I would give the situation my best effort, give it my all.

And then I remembered the conversation.

‘I want to make a difference for people in life. I want to help people.

‘Why do you want to do that?’

I am halted. I consider deeply. Eventually, I have a response. ‘I think it is because I feel valued, needed, when I help others. And that makes me feel like I am worth it in life.’ If I am needed, then I am necessary and worth having around.

I’m not sure if I want to be upset by this or not. (Obviously, I want to be content, not upset. However, this is calling for some deep consideration, which I do respect.) Does this still drive me in life? It was years ago, and I consciously took action to free myself of the mentality, and then forgot about it until now. It just lived as a picture on the wall of a room through which I pass so often, that I’ve forgotten what decorations are even in it. And now, someone has asked me what I think of this picture on the wall….

I don’t know.

Post-a-day 2017

Snow in Houston, Texas (and t-rex Christmas cards)

Last night, it snowed here. In Houston, Texas. It happened yet again. What miracles lie before us? It began after I went to sleep, and didn’t begin to stick until after I woke up for a bathroom break in the middle of the night. So, I woke up to snow covering everything that wasn’t concrete this morning. Which, when you think about it, is kind of the best kind of snow – you don’t have to shovel or worry about tire chains or anything, but you get to have beautiful snow everywhere around you.

The hit of the morning was arriving to school. My mom drove me in, because we were going to a Christkindlmarkt (German Christmas market) together after school, and the market was too far away for me to drive home first and then go, and it didn’t make sense for us to drive two cars out there. She was staying for a bit, because we had Mass at school for the Immaculate Conception, and this was a chance for her to see the school a little bit. Pulling into the parking lot (vacant of teachers, because we were so early), we discovered a sort of snowball fight happening in the picnic table area next to the lot. We didn’t have much snow on the ground, but the kids were making some snowballs out of it, and throwing them around at one another. It was adorable.

Naturally, my mom declared that I had to make a snowball, as we were leaving the car. I grabbed an already-made snowball from the ground, which had lost only a bit after originally falling there, and showed it to her. As she eyed me up while she finished off her own snowball, I realized that she intended to throw hers at me.

And so the fight began.

My mom and I, shuffling around a parking lot and a small grassy area with snow about it, picking up and throwing odd snowballs at one another, practically screeching with delight. When I was turned away, a snowball hit her square in the back of the head. No one was too near us, though, so it had come a long way. And these were a little tough for regular snowballs, so it definitely hurt her a bit in the moment (stung, perhaps, is the appropriate word here). It didn’t ruin out fun, of course, but merely added to the silliness of the whole affair – one of my students had attacked my mother with a snowball*. No part of that declaration makes sense for living here, in Houston, Texas. 😛

In class, before Mass, kids lined up at the windows to stare at the snow in the courtyard below and on the roofs within view. This was only the second time in their lives that it has snowed here, so their fascination with it was completely understandable, and utterly adorable.

Today had some magic, that’s for sure.

*I found out later that the student who hit my mom actually was a student of mine. He asked me ‘who that teacher was, walking with me earlier,’ and, when I asked for clarification, he described the morning snowball affair. “That was my mom.” In shock, he declared that he thought it was a teacher and asked me to tell my mom that he was sorry for what he did to her. (My mom and I laughed at the thought that he apologized for having hit my mom, but that is seems to be the case that he willingly would hit a teacher in the head with a hard snowball, without question.)

P.S. My task today was to “[d]raw a Christmas card”. So, I drew one on the roof of my mom’s car tonight as we were leaving the Christkindlmarkt. Frost had begun to reappear all over the place.

Post-a-day 2017

Time for Multilingual Christmas Stuff

My task for today (from my tea advent calendar) was to listen to a Christmas song in every language I speak. Seeing as how it was likely to be difficult to find a song other than “Jingle Bells” (which is definitely not one of my favorites on repeat) in a bunch of different languages, and taking into account that it could get quite boring, listening to the same song over and over again, I chose to interpret the assignment as being any Christmas song for any of the languages (i.e. different songs for each language, as opposed to the same one in each language). These are the songs I picked.

German: Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht
(It was originally written in German. I love the version by John Denver and the Muppets on their joint Christmas album.)

French: Minuit Chrétiens
(One of my favorite Christmas songs, and it was originally in French. This isn’t my favorite version, but it’s still nice.)

Japanese: All I Want for Christmas is You Japanese cover
(Clearly not originally Japanese, but I like it anyway, so I listened to it. I loved the ridiculous Christmas music I would hear in the shops while living in Japan, but I can’t remember any of it. This one does justice to some of the better covers I heard, though.) 😀

English: Mary, did you know?
I first remember hearing this song at Mass at my aunt’s Church in a small town in Texas. A boy around my age sang the song during Mass, I believe during the meditation time following Communion (when everyone goes up to the front and takes some bread and wine). I thought it was magical, hearing this twangy-accented high schooler sing his heart out with these words and notes. This version reminds me of a grown-up version of that first one I remember hearing.

Italian: Tu Scendi Dalle Stele
(Originally written in Italian. I love this guy.)

Spanish: Los Peces en el Rio
(I’d never heard this one, but I love it. It is originally in Spanish, and also quite popular as a Christmas song in Spanish-speaking cultures.)*

Seeing as I don’t speak any others fluently or conversationally, I didn’t do them – this took some time and consideration as it was! But it was totally good. Just made me want to listen to loads more in each of the languages, really. Also, I totally forgot about English and Spanish songs until after I thought I was already finished with this task. Whoops. 😛

*If you want some awesome, quality, unoffensive music in Spanish, check out this song. Be prepared to be a little shocked when you see the artists performing, and how strongly it contrasts to the sound of the music. It rocks. Try listening to it without seeing the video for a minute or two. Enjoy!

Post-a-day 2017

Writing, math in life…

I’ve been on the phone with my college flatmate tonight, talking about writing. Apparently, I actually do have some fun and crazy ideas that would be really interesting for people to read – she didn’t even understand how I got to the sorts of ideas that regularly come to mind, simply as the normal order of thinking in my head. So, I guess that’s not so normal as I’d thought it to be, having such ideas so casually and regularly.

The thing is, I haven’t set up sitting down to do it. Not yet, anyway, and not for long enough. I’ve noticed that writing at night is not the way to go for me. For other things, sure – I can do loads of physical movement at night. For writing, however, I’m next to hopeless, it feels. I don’t feel much like writing anything in the first place at night, and so I struggle to find something to write, and then I make loads of errors in what I do finally write. It just isn’t a good combination.

Speaking of combinations, I was talking with students in my geometry class today about how math can be useful in life in cool ways. One example was from a show my stepdad watches about the TV show “The Walking Dead”. It’s sort of a behind-the-scenes sort of show, and this particular bit that I saw was talking about everything they had to do in order to set up a car crash. It was really cool, seeing everything broken down, all of the things they had to organize to make it work. The best part, perhaps, was seeing how it was pure geometry and physics that made the crash work flawlessly.

The other example was in a little photo shoot I was witnessing (and had to abandon for distress), in which the photographer said that they were supposed to be sitting in a Christmas tree formation. But she didn’t do anything to make this happen. She didn’t even seem to know what needed to be done for this shape to happen. (The people in charge definitely seemed to be lacking in general crowd control and effective instructions arenas, too.) It occurred to me that she never considered just getting the number of people – I’d have done it ahead of time, but on the sport would have worked just finely, too – expected in the photo, and dividing them up into the necessary number of people per row, based on the exact shape desired and the number of rows available. I was about to begin the calculations as I watched, but then realized that no one was going to listen to me anyway, so it was better if I just left the stressful situation, since that was the only thing I actually could do in the situation. So, I left. But it proved to be a good example to the kids in class at how math is present in life in ways that people don’t even consider. Had the photographer thought about math, – and it is likely that she didn’t, because she wasn’t very confident in or in love with math while in school – the whole photo shoot could have gone loads better than it did. And they could have had the Christmas tree, and even decorated with “lights” or an outline, using the different shirt and jacket colors present and available. But she didn’t, so none of that happened.

Post-a-day 2017