It’s just not Christmas

It just doesn’t feel like Christmas without family and friends with whom to be jolly.  Even when the weather is all chilly slash freezing (literally), it just feels like a cold front. And, watching Christmas films just feels out of season when watching them solo… not like it’s Christmastime.

I guess I never fully realized how much Christmas is a shared event. It has never felt so non-Christmas-y, than it has here, in a world where Christ has no role, general jollity, candy canes, and mistletoe are nonexistent, and family and friends are far away.
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ABBA in life

The musical delight ABBA holds a truly special place in my heart.  For whatever reason, I have a few very strong memories connected to their music.

My Junior year of high school, while at a dance event (west coast swing, a partner dance), “Dancing Queen” comes on.  My good friend and I rush out onto the floor, as we both love the song, and it is the first time we’ve heard it played at any kind of dance event or social.  We both crack up at the line referencing the dancing queen’s being 17, as 1) he has just turned 17, 2) he is semi-secretly gay (putting him in a certain category of queens), and 3) he is dancing and is darn good at it.  Neither of us had anticipated the line to fit so perfectly until we heard it while on the dance floor.  I was overflowing with joy and delight during that dance.

Senior year of high school, I quote the lyrics of “Thank you for the Music” in a letter (possibly for a retreat) to my eventual boyfriend.  A huge portion of our friendship/relationship was filled with the beautiful music he created almost constantly, and it brought true bliss to my life in a way nothing else could.  (Not that other things can’t bring true bliss, just that that particular kind of bliss was its own kind.)

Studying abroad in Vienna in college, I come home late one night to my shared dorm room, where my roommate is already in bed, sleeping (from what I can tell, anyway).  I sit down at my desk to do a few things on my computer (probably check Facebook and e-mails and whatnot), and notice that my roommate is listening to music rather loudly (seeing as I can hear it and all).  “Oh cool,” I think, “She likes ABBA, too.”  I wonder for a bit, how on Earth she can sleep with the music playing so loudly in her ears.  When I am finally about to go to sleep, half-ish an hour or so later, I notice that the music doesn’t seem to be louder near her bed, but quieter.  I follow the sound, and discover that my iPod has been blasting the first artist on the list for that past 45-ish minutes.  It was difficult not to laugh, though I had really enjoyed listening to the music, even if it wasn’t my roommates choice after all.

So, what beautiful, strong memory will occur next with ABBA, I wonder?  🙂

 

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Stress made me write

Today was so stressful, I considered balling up on the floor of the shower, and not going back into real life… for a while, anyway.  Instead, I cried for a minute, was struck by inspiration, and stood up and showered.

When I was all dried off, and had irrigated my ears, I sat down and started writing my book.  🙂  From one terrifying thing to the next!

 

Peace  😀

 

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Beautiful Bodies

The beauty of the human body never ceases to amaze me.  The soft, homey curves, combined with the strict, angled, edged lines… I am regularly in awe at the beauty of it all.

My mother was in a drawing class at the community college a decade or so ago, and they did sketching of live models.  I remember being in love with the charcoal-style outlines of these nude individuals.  I couldn’t tell if I wanted to be so talented as my mother, and be able to draw these beautiful bodies, or if I wanted to be so confident and free as the lady who easily sat for 45 minutes in a room full of people (and remember that these people were practically investigating her body from all angles), wearing nothing.  Truly, I think I wanted to be both.

And I still do.

In college, I almost got the nerve to ask about modeling for the art classes we had on campus.  I even asked someone about it, and found out that those who modeled were even paid.  For whatever reason, though, I never pursued it.  I think I might have been quaking with fright on the insides, merely at the consideration of speaking to the art professor about my potential desire to model.

Now, all I do is think every so often how I want to be in an art class, so that I eventually can make such beautiful art as my mother used to make, and then share it with the world…. and also gaze at it myself.  As of right now, I have several other things that come up more often as things I want to pursue, so I think I actually will pursue those… however, on second thought (more like thousandth thought),  I’ll make another go at finding one of these drawing classes (I recently asked around about it, and it got me nowhere, so I was a bit disheartened after that.  I think I’m about ready to do some new asking of new people who might be able to help, though.)

 

Well, that was productive.  I’ll be sure to share about my art exhibit, whenever it happens down the road!  Hehe  😀

 

 

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Dreaming of being Muslim

Have you ever wanted to be a different religion than you currently are?  I don’t mean like converting.  I mean it in the sense of having a different life; perhaps even literally being born into a different family and culture, such that your whole belief system is completely different from what it is now.  Well, anyway, I have (which, I suppose, was already rather obvious, seeing as I’ve brought it up and all…).

Growing up, and even still nowadays, I found myself occasionally longing to be a member of a culture similar to that of Islam’s culture.  I realize there are many concerns that have arisen in recent history regarding the religion.  However, that is not the point here.  The point is their beautiful dedication to their religion.

Whenever I pass the Prayer & Meditation Room in hospitals and comparable establishments, known to be filled with people of varying cultures and belief systems, I usually double back and go inside the room.  When inside, I see the prayer books, and sometimes even the mats for prayer and the compass-perfect layout of the room (for those who pray in a certain direction), and I feel a sort of longing.  From something deep inside, I feel an attachment to these strong religious practices.

Praying so many times a day, at certain times of day, using specific prayers and motions…, you really have to plan ahead in your day.  We have a soccer tournament today, so we’ll take a break between these games and these games… do you have the mats?  Just a normal Saturday, right?  Your religion ends up on the forefront of your mind from the moment you wake up, to the last prayer before sleep.  (Plus, with the Hijab for a woman, it is even more prevalent in one’s day. (Actually, I regularly wear a head covering for yoga, and sometimes even just life, and I wish it were more accepted, such that I could really wear one whenever I wanted.))

Perhaps it is simply that the practicers of Islam seem to have such extreme dedication, that it is as though they ‘have it all together’ or something.   That I experience their dedication as a sort of clarity and true love in their lives…, and I want that clarity and love in my life, too.  Perhaps it is that it just seems so special to me, their religious practices, and I therefore want to be part of the something special.  I think it is just that I find beauty in it all – the practice, the dedication, the thought-out-ness of implementing it in life -, and I want that beauty.  I want beauty to abound in my life, and this is just one other way that I could bring beauty into my life…

I know there is so much more I could say, and so many better ways in which I could say what I’ve already said (although it is all writing, as opposed to actual speaking), but I think that up there gives a somewhat accurate portrayal of my thoughts and sentiment on the matter… somewhat.  ;P

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“Cheer up, Charlie”

Today I continued with my breakdown, in search of what is in the way for my having a breakthrough.

I sat on the stairwell as a sort of escape, and a fabulous English-speaker found me and chatted me up for the whole first period… I managed to find some things behind a lot of my stress, and it allowed me to let go of a Lot of my struggles; I even made jokes about how ridiculous I was seeing things, and I meant them with a happy, goofy, joking heart.  I mean, I totally cried my eyes out, as well, but the conversation created this beautiful clearing for me, and the person talking with me was just incredible at accepting me where I was, and letting me be however I needed to be.

At the end of it, she said, somewhat singsong-y, “Cheer up.” I added, “Charlie…” to finish the tune it sounded like she was carrying, and ended up laughing and crying a bit more.

I went and found the song, and listened to it before I had to do anything else, and it became my personal heart song around the whole situation (I kind of made up that term, but it seems to give the right experience). I plan to listen to it every day that I find myself stressed about my job again.

So, these are good things, of course.  However, the thing I most want to share is what happened this afternoon.

I went ahead and sent the YouTube link to that person from the stairwell (I had her e-mail as of or conversation, you see), so that she could hear the song (since she had never seen the film (only the Johnny Depp “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”)). This was during the morning.  Around two or three p.m., she comes by my desk and tells me with a smile, ‘I received the song you sent to me, and I just listened to it in the bathroom. It is quite nice. Thank you for sending it to me.’

‘In the BATHroom? Just now? Really??’

Chuckling quietly, ‘Yes… it was the only place that is out of the way, so it would not bother anyone.’

I was delighted. And still am. 😀
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Breakdown in Town

Today I did a sort of volunteering, and I had a total breakdown for myself.  (Yes, tears and all!)  😀

As I noticed my irritation at being skipped over for helping with certain things, I wondered why I cared – it’s not like any of this takes master brain power, or special Hannah skills in the first place, so why am I annoyed at being asked to do this task versus that task?  I eventually got to the source of my irritation:  I was asked to do this task, because it doesn’t required any Japanese knowledge or use.  I was not asked to do other tasks, because the assigners believed me incapable of accomplishing them (due to my level of Japanese).

It was a three-part annoyance initially.
1) They aren’t letting me to something, because they think me incapable.
2) They didn’t even check if I were capable of the tasks, but just assumed me incapable.
3) I actually was incredibly capable of those particular tasks, and had even done them before, when my Japanese was a much lower level than it is now.

Now, these are all things that could cause some real annoyance, right?  Right.

However, I looked further than that.  I am here, making a difference, and that’s my purpose of being here.  So why am I getting annoyed at this whole thing?  What’s behind those three concerns?  Well, I didn’t know at first.

As part of the thing at which I was helping, one of the conversations was about complaints we have in life, and what we get out of those complaints, as well as what we miss out on because of our having retained the complaints.

The area which stuck out to me instantly (and which I did not want to address, of course) was my job.  Almost immediately from the start of this one-year-contract job, I disliked it.  And, here I am, four moths later, still hating it.  Even though there are plenty of things I love about it, I still have this utter dislike of my job.  It’s boring.  It’s a waste of my time.  I’m better than this.  They’re doing it all wrong – it would makes Loads more sense to do it This way instead.  They’re stupid – they just need to listen to me and let me do it.  Why do I have to do it This way?… This way sucks! And, most of all, Why do I have to be here in such a crap situation?

So, seeing this constant, repeating complaints about my job, I looked at what I got out of the complaining.  More than anything else, I get to be right, and I get to avoid responsibility.  I get to be right that my job sucks and, obviously, everyone telling me what to do or how to do things is totally wrong, as well as that I shouldn’t be here and am better than all of this boring nonsense that a Monkey could do.  I get to avoid the responsibility of finding a job I love, and putting forth the effort required for such a task, allowing me to be a victim of the situation of my job, as opposed to the fact that I was lazy, and just went one of the easier routes in finding an international job.  This sucks, and it’s totally not my fault at all.  That was about it.

And, what did I miss out on by being right and by avoiding responsibility in finding a great job?  Relationships with the people around me each day.  Sleep (from staying up, hating having to go to work the next morning, and so putting it off as long as possible).  Fun at work.  Joy in my day-to-day.  Sharing my love and wisdom with the world.  Being happy, and spreading my usually-infectious happiness all around me.  Being calm and relaxed (because I was so stressed all the time with the annoyance of “My job sucks.”).  Loving life.  Being me*.

So, what did this have to do with my annoyance in the volunteering?  Well, with all of my complaints around my work, I had been so focused on proving to who knows who that everything is just wrong about my job, that I had sacrificed not only getting to know the country around me, but also really studying, using, and learning Japanese.  So, essentially, I was pissed off, because I had kept myself from learning more Japanese, which had caused the problem of the people here today thinking I didn’t know enough Japanese to help with certain fun tasks.  Wow.

 

Now, I cried tears of fury when I finally saw that.  Total breakdown, right?  Right.  So, I declared that, in terms of the Japanese learning and studying, I would write out the list of phrases and such that I normally would learn (when learning a new language) before going to bed tonight, and that I would have them translated correctly to Japanese by 6p.m. Wednesday.  A first step in creating my advancement in the study of the Japanese language.  And I’m actually really excited now, thinking about all the fun and silly and crazy things I’ll get to go do, now that I’m actually taking on learning Japanese (and by “actually taking on learning Japanese”, I mean learning it Really, ridiculously well).

I’m still not willing to give up everything on the work complaints, and I’m not so sure why…, but I’m going to look into that this week.  There’s something still in the way for me in letting that all go.  I’m okay letting go of most of it, but something deep down is holding tight to a wadded handful of complaints. (Haha, how ridiculous does this sound?  Ridiculous to me, and yet I still won’t let it all go!  Craziness, Hannah.  Craziness.)  😀  How about we plan that I get over it by Tuesday of next week, 12 noon?  Sounds good.  I can get my final hours and days of being angry at my job, and hopefully see how utterly ridiculous it, and just let it go and have a breakthrough where I create something new and fabulous (and beneficial, of course!) in its stead.  I’ve had a breakdown, so now it is time for a breakthrough!  Okay, go!  😀  Yess!  😀

 

*I, because I do care about grammar.

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Heart-ing Accents

I love accents.

Tonight, walking home from an incredible sprint to the train station, which was through the ridiculously cold weather (causing my throat, all the way down into my chest, to burn most of the way back home), in order for a friend to catch the last train home for the night, I called up a different friend of mine, just to check in and say a ten-minute “Hello.”

Now, I don’t have many acquaintances who are Australian, and I see and speak with them rather rarely.  So, whenever I talk with this particular friend, who, naturally, is Australian, I am delighted with the mini surprises the accent provides me in conversation.  I am accustomed to the British and Canadian and US English accents, and even the New Zealander accent.  But that Australian one just drives me so goofy (Yes, I realize that is not a standard phrase, but let’s roll with it, shall we?  Yes, let’s.), I get a rush of joy and giggles when it pops out, differentiating itself from the other accents to which I am accustomed.

I’m not sure how this love for accents developed, but I have a hunch it was in our societal view of foreign accents.  For some reason, it is always the foreigner who is exotic and desirable above all others in a TV show or movie, or even book.  Sure, they are different from our everyday, but they are just like loads of other people in their own home countries.  (You know, this really doesn’t make much sense, where I have this heading…)  So, yes, they are different and thereby exotic when they are here, and not when they are back in their home countries.  But why must they be so portrayed as desirable, sexy?  How did that get decided, I wonder?  Just a wondering, I have…

Anyway, the point of all of this was that my friend has an Australian accent, which is a new thing for me (my first full-time Australian friend, you see), and it always surprises me when things end up being pronounced a different way than I had subconsciously expected, and it makes me smile and giggle with delight every time.  So, thank you, God, for the cuteness and wonderfulness of various accents in our world.  🙂

 

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Gumbo is a family affair

Tomorrow, I get to make my first attempt at Gumbo.  I am thrilled, and totally terrified.  😛

I asked my mom for the recipe, so that I could make it for Christmas for Japanese friends, in order to share a bit of my culture with them (Even though it’s definitely not a standard Christmas dinner for Texans, it’s my family’s Christmas dinner pretty much every year.), and also to feel at home a bit for the holiday.

Now, my mom couldn’t just send me the recipe.  Why?  She said that she would have to tell it to me.  “Really?  It’s not written down somewhere?” I thought.  Well, apparently it is possibly written somewhere, however, my mom doesn’t use it.  She uses the recipe her mother has used for the past however many decades, which is probably just about the same as her mother used.  How cool is that?  Family tradition that’s extra-especial.  We have a family recipe.  Well, sort of, anyway.  😛

Now I just have to get it right, and then remember it forever, so that I can continue the tradition of delicious Gumbo in our family.

 

P.S.  “Loser’s Gumbo” is a fabulous song by Shake Russel and Michael Hearne.  Find it.  Listen to it.  Laugh at it.  Enjoy it forever.  🙂

 

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Perfection in the Unexpected

Tonight I went to a bar.  (For me, that’s actually a somewhat surprising event, for those who don’t already know this.)  A recent friend just started working there, and invited me to come by on her first(?) night, tonight.  I figured it would be nice to see the friend, as well as get to know a little place in my town (and, by going early, I could potentially avoid smokers filling the place).

In preparing to go to the bar, I figured I would bring along this speech I just wrote (like yesterday), so that I could spend my time practicing the speech, whenever the friend was busy working.  Plus, I knew there’d be a slight chance of getting a local to help me with the speech (because it’s in Japanese, so I can use the help!).

What I was not prepared to have happen, was pretty much everything that happened.

The bar was quaint and cool, and had an art gallery as half of its space, along with fabulous music playing quietly in the background, such that it was never a bother.  The people were not only friendly, but American-like in their open conversations and friendliness with one another – it was as though they were all already friends, although they definitely were not.  Following that style of friendliness, they all rather quickly learned of this speech I was reading over, as well as the details of the competition, and when I have to do what, and the fact that I decided to participate only last night.

As I was preparing to leave, and the people nearest me were wishing me luck on my practice, someone suggested I come back and read the finished product.  We all agreed that it was a good idea.  Then someone else suggested reading the speech now for practice. Seeing as how I had hardly practiced reading it, I knew it would take forever, and said so.

Thirty seconds later, silence was attained throughout the bar, and I read the first section of my speech to my avid audience of these Japanese bar-dwellers.  I messed up.  Of course, I did.  And it was fabulous.

It was totally terrifying, and I did it anyway, and I even did a decent job.  Some of it was perfect, and some of it was not even close to perfect.  But the experience, in and of itself, was absolutely perfect.  (Even though there was a guy smoking off and on…, but he, being the wonderful smoker he is, always held his cigarette high, and blew his smoke up as high as possible, to keep it out of our faces.)  And that’s the point of it all, anyway.  Once I arrived home, I even got to chat with a friend I’ve been missing lately, and that was a blast…  Perfection has been attained tonight, so now I shall sleep.  Goodnight!  😀

 

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