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 "Is it weird, having not seen me for so long?" I asked. He said, "I... no, not really. I mean, I'm just so busy, I don't really see many people anymore." I keep waiting for someone to understand how it is. I guess that's as close as I'll get. I lead a very quiet existence. I don't really have much to complain about, I get on just fine. But there's always this moment... this moment of, I don't know, realization? A wake up call? A new perspective on things? It's as if the lives of people I know suddenly become more apparent, and I become filled with this feeling of insignificance. My little life seems so much more mundane, and I'm left sitting to ponder my life and life's questions. JSF says it best in Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close: "Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living." I wonder about everyone who is content with life. I wonder if they think there's more to it, if there's more to life than just this. I wonder if they think they're truly meant for something else, if they ever want to break free. And then I wonder, what if what they're content with is truly what they're content with? I know I shouldn't feel insignificant. Every life is worth something, little or big. Everything we do affects some kind of change. Our lives move at different paces, some much faster, some much slower. In the end, I just try to do the right thing.  - Sincerely, John Hughes (farewell) - Kennedy & the Ocean (farewell) - Bolivia's Interminable Mirror to the Sky - Pulp Goddesses: Tarantino and his Women - Why Craigslist Is Such a Mess - question: lifespan (Previously: Lists, part 26)  It's that time of year, guys. That time of year when the Little League World Series happens, and I pretty much live and breath it until the championship (this coming Sunday!). I'm entranced, enraptured, en-everything. Because these kids (THESE KIDS!) are true: their emotion is raw and their passion is there in every play, every error, every win and loss. Not to say major leaguers don't have that too, but there's something about playing just for the game without any money or contracts or agents or anything. The same goes for college sports-- all for the love of the game. Plus, I love how after each game, the opposing teams slap hands with each other. That was one of my favorite parts after each softball game, way back when I played. I always give it up for my Mid-Atlantic region. Staten Island, keep the dream alive! Currently leading Iowa (Midwest), 2-0, bottom of the fourth. It's the elimination game, so... if the Mid-Atlantic fades out, I end up rooting for whoever (generally the underdog). It's all just really fun to watch. But lemme tell you, Mexico clobbered Germany (Europe) 13-0, and Asia-Pacific has been steamrolling through everyone, holy!  During my adventure, the one question I got asked a lot was, "Are you traveling alone?" To which I always responded with a questionable, "Yes...?" I didn't expect the reactions to be surprising, yet they were. I'm not sure if it was my stature or just the general idea of a female traveling alone. I certainly have nothing against it, in fact I do like traveling alone sometimes. There's a certain solitude to it: those long train rides, those peaceful waiting times... sometimes when you're around people all the time (and seeing so many new things!), you kind want some downtime to clear your head and have everything sink in. Which is exactly what I did when I was moving from one place to another. Along the way, strangers struck up conversations with me while I waited: some were absolutely hysterical ("You have nice teeth!"), others were demeaning (ugh, that woman, I wanted to punch her in the ovaries) and, thankfully, none were creepy.  "So you're from the East Coast?" "Yeah." (smiles and laughs) "Ahh, yes you are." For the first time, I was told I have an accent. Washingtonians picked up on it pretty fast, which left me scratching my head. What am I saying that gives it away? I sifted through some words, asked some friends and figured out it was slight but notable enough to point out I was from the Northeast. Growing up in Jersey, I think my accent is a mix of that and New York. Inevitably, I've picked up some New York pronunciations along the way. The way I say "yeah" sounds very New Yorky, kind of like "yea" and not "ye-ahh." I sort of shorten it a little and drop the "ahh" part. I say "water" like "wuh-ter," but not quite "wuh-tuh." And no, I definitely do not say "pasta" like "paaa-stah"-- not with that nasally "a" as in adderall. I say it like "pah-stah." (If you saw 500 Days of Summer, Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character has a great Jersey accent, the best example I can pinpoint.) But it's slight, you know? And I found that really funny and fascinating, that something so little was picked up. So I asked them what a Washington accent is, or if there is one. They said, "Wellll..." Apparently some say Washington like "Worshington" and a washer (& dryer) is a "worsher." They also say "pop" instead of "soda." I might've gotten a look when I said soda. Well, fine! I'll have some wuh-tuh with my paaa-stah, and Houston is pronounced HOW-STIN!! (I'm aware Houston, Texas is pronounced one way, but in New York, Houston (Street) is pronounced differently.)  Happy birthday, me. Tacking on another year... (Previously: 2008)  We were hiking along the train tracks, making our way to the ocean. We balanced on the rails, hopped along the timber and picked out rocks from time to time. We stopped off a path and started to climb down a very steep incline when a train came roaring down the tracks. I paused and started climbing back up towards the tracks with everyone else, and we stood watching the cargo train rush past us. I've never hiked along live tracks before, only the abandoned ones (or what I thought were abandoned ones). But for a live track, it felt kind of abandoned, what with it being in the middle of a forrest and some rusted nails I found. It was my first time watching a train rush past me while I stood on the side. (I'm not counting on a platform for commuter trains or anything like that. I'm counting right next to big cargo trains in remote areas.) I could have hopped on one of the open cars when it slowed down briefly, but I couldn't get stable footing because of the lose rocks and incline. How fun would that have been? I wondered where the train went to. After the train finished rushing past us, we climbed back up and lowered our ears to listen. It was such a nice sound, the vibration of the rails. We glanced at each other and smiled.  We grew up together, Happy-B and I. Through years, we faded in and out of each other's lives. She moved away to Washington State after middle school while I remained on the East Coast. Prior to this visit, we hadn't seen each other in about 3 years, and in those 3 years a lot has changed. We talked on the phone figuring out my visit; she sounded the same to me, with the same happy tone. I don't know if I sounded the same to her. My plane landed and I made my way through the Seattle airport, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. As I stepped off the escalator, there she was. We both paused before I held out my arms and we hugged. "It's so weird that you're here!" She said. And just like that, we burst out laughing and somehow, somehow, everything fell back into place. She was telling me about how she was moving to a new place at the end of month, and how she found her new roommates. She said one girl in particular reminded her of me, a certain quality that felt right to her. A warm feeling spread through my chest. I didn't know what to think except... I kind of wanted to cry. Not out of sadness but out of knowing that I had a good effect on someone while growing up, that my being meant something to someone. I didn't think my actions meant anything when we were younger, yet they did. For some reason, that made me really happy. She reminded me of an incident in middle school (and oh, how we know middle school can be vicious) wherein 2 "friends" were being incredibly horrible to her in the most passive aggressive way. Happy-B eventually left the table and made it to the bathroom to be alone. I'm not sure how I saw through it all, but I left the table immediately and went to see if she was alright. Years later, as she told me this story, she told me how grateful she was to have me as a friend then. And yes, even happier that we kept in touch.  It felt like I had woken up from a strange reverie. Suddenly I was on a plane, miles and miles away from where I had been. I stared out the window into the endless blue sky and smiled at the fluffy white clouds. And then I looked down, and there it was: the world. Patterned fields, rivers, lakes, crevices, hills, mountains, snow, cars traveling along desolate roads, little towns... I had forgotten how beautiful everything is. That's when I woke up. The city was long gone, and my tiny life I was living was, well, tiny. I had stopped living; I was being. And as if on cue, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders: it was time to start living again, even if it was only for a week.  Evidently, I pace around a lot when I pack. At least this is what I learned about myself yesterday. (And apparently, I take photos when I pack.) I can gather everything I need to bring within a half hour and then I lay it out. And I stare at it. And I pace. What am I thinking about as I pace? Absolutely nothing. I guess it's my way of telling myself, "Delay the actual packing until the last minute!" Which is exactly what happened. I folded and rolled everything together within another half hour. "Well, that was easy..." I thought to myself. I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but I'll think of it when I'm up in a few hours. I'm naturally a light packer. I'm not sure... how my brain functions when this all happens, but I always wind up with little to carry. Friends are impressed with this little talent, to which I smile and shrug. Sometimes I even impress myself! After I finished packing yesterday, I stood back and said, "That's... it?" For a week of a travel, I managed to fold myself into a backpack and a medium-sized duffle bag. I do not know how this happened. I scratched my head and went over the list of things I packed again, and well, that was everything! The joys of packing light summer clothes. So after all that pacing, I'm finally off to explore the Pacific Northwest. See you! |
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Hi, my name is Amy. Be well, and say hello!
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