Pillars of Salt

I lived through my first semester of PhD school. Right now, I can't remember the last time I felt so free and un-stressed. Of course, I am not completely satisfied with everything I have accomplished, but when am I ever? I always take too long and worry about things out of my control, but overall, I feel a sense of peace that is very relaxing.

It's been a crazy year, looking back. Being unemployed and uninsured was basically as horrifying as I imagined it would be, but I got through it and I am grateful to the friends and family who made sure I was not homeless as well. I have been in my own little apartment for four months now, and I am amazed at how much I like living by myself. It is soothing to come back to my own space with no emotions but my own to confront. (Territorializing; defining my own habits, constructing my own home.)

I used to think that leaving a place was like the story in Genesis where Lot and his family flee from the destruction of Sodom. "Don't look back," the angels told them. "Otherwise you will perish." But Lot's wife looked back and turned to a pillar of salt. I always felt sympathy for her. Poor nameless woman, torn out of her home and forced into the wilderness. What was wrong with a look back? Apparently, that look meant she was not trusting, that she doubted, that she was discontent. So many terrible explanations for a natural, human action. We care about places, we care about people. We care when we have to let go. It is okay to look back.

For too many moves, I thought that I had to leave without looking back, or my own grief would overwhelm me. This is not exactly the most healthy of attitudes. Sorting through how to be in North Carolina (and enjoying it) while missing Philadelphia is strange. I'm not sure how to stay connected to both places, as if I have to chose only one. Maybe the pillar here is not one of sorrow, but of achievement. I made it, I transitioned onwards, and I can come back.

This weekend I spent time with my best friend from childhood. She lived next door to us in Fayetteville, her dad was in the air force. When my family moved abroad, her family took our dog. She's back in Fayetteville now, and it was strange and amazing to see her. Maybe nothing is lost, and we will find all our pillars marking every move eventually. I like to think of these pillars as memorials of change, not of complete destruction.

The process of homemaking

I don't necessarily want this blog to become a dead space; the last half a year has just been crazy and often I didn't know what to write. And now I find myself once more in a new place, in the process of figuring out "home" all over again. It's mostly been exciting, but also draining, and a bit sad.

I've moved across state lines and started my new graduate program. Letting go of my old one has been a bit difficult, but I know that I am in a good place now too. Last night I had some new friends over to my new place and it was great. Cleaning up this morning, my apartment felt just a little bit bigger, a little more like home, because there are shared memories here now too.

Updates and all that jazz

Currently, I am at 50 pages (more or less) of thesis text. This fills me with glee. Rather a change from the beginning of grad school, when cranking out the minimum 15 was an accomplishment. I mean, this 50 pages need serious help... Lots of editing, and another chapter or so to write still, but hey, I'm making progress and that is a good feeling. Sometimes all you need is the right book to get things back on track.

Speaking of books! I have been reading fun ones in my spare time. I got an Amazon gift card and went to town. Brief book reviews: 

1. Akata Witch and Zara the Wind Seeker by Nnedi Okorafor. I read her book Who Fears Death last spring and it was such a profound and wonderful book that I couldn't wait to read these two, which are young adult novels. Akata Witch was just published last year and was nominated for several awards. I enjoyed it, but it was very similar to Who Fears Death and so I wasn't as wowed as I wanted to be. Zara, on the other hand, was extremely fun. I love Okorafor's world building, and I hope she continues to gain recognition. 

2. Reamde by Neal Stephenson. Basically, this book was a gigantic adrenaline rush. Hackers! Mobsters! Terrorists! I kept expecting pirates to show up, but they didn't. Despite that lack, I enjoyed the book almost thoroughly. It was terribly exciting, and I jus t love how mobile the story was. Canada today, China tomorrow, and hey the Philippines and now Seattle and then Idaho. It satisfied my inner globe-trotter. I do have to confess, I was disappointed by the epilogue. Spoiler: I wanted Zula to end up with the Russian, not the Hungarian. If she HAD to end up with someone, anyway. It seemed unnecessary. 

3. A Long, Long Sleep by Anna Sheehan. This was a YA sci-fi retelling of Sleeping Beauty. It was very sad. I felt that it was an interesting take on how Sleeping Beauty would have coped with waking into a new world, lost and abandoned. I especially appreciated that there was no requisite happy ending. That lack made the book more complicated and unsettling than I expected. It reminded me a lot of Diana Wynne Jones' Hexwood, so I was pleased to find that the author is also a DWJ fan. 

4. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows. I'm in the middle of this one. This is an epistolary novel set right after WWII. My nerdself is deeply satisfied with a return to such an early novel form. Each character has a distinct voice, and some parts remind me of Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone. The top three words that come to my mind are: lovely, funny, moving. It is a book for people who love books.  


A quote from Guernsey to sum up: 


"That's what I love about reading: one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It's geometrically progressive-- all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment" (p. 11-12). 

Writing Letters

My brother left for basic training this week. He will have no internet access for... a really long time it seems. (He was hazy on the details.) So I'm committed to writing him old fashioned letters. (Humorous that these "old fashioned letters" were the norm in my early life.) It is much harder than I thought it would be. I'm used to the instantaneous forms of communication; I feel like they don't require as many of the little details that constitute everyday life. Now I'm asking myself questions like, is it stupid to talk about this? Does he want to know about this? Am I being boring? Is that spelled correctly? Will he even be able to read my handwriting?! I feel like a handwritten letter has to be long to be worth the effort. And nothing I have to say seems interesting enough to add length so far.

Other than that, things are going pretty well! I went back to campus this week and enjoyed myself very much, although I didn't get as much time with people as I wanted. But really, I think I like this ability to go back to visit. It's novel.

Broken things

I just haven't felt like writing much. Even though I know staying with my parents is the best decision at the moment, I just feel very strange. I don't know where to go (yet) or what to do (yet) and my clothes don't (yet) fit into the new drawers and this seems an apt reflection of my life in general. After living out of boxes and suitcases the last few months, I was very happy to put all my clothes away and try on all my shoes (don't judge! I like my shoes) and realize I don't actually need all these things. Giving things away is all part of my moving process; cathartic and symbolic of something, no doubt. And of course, I kept more than I should have, and in a few months, I'll weed out some more items.

On my last night in Philly I went to the opening of the Zoe Strauss: Ten Years exhibit. It was a profoundly moving experience. I kept thinking about the disconnect between the subjects of the photos and the space in which they were being viewed. Strauss started out her career by exhibiting her work underneath I-95, and now she is displaying in a gallery in the Philadelphia Art Museum. Her pictures are powerful and capture pain and suffering that are not necessarily lovely or noble, but are profoundly shocking and raw.

I'm finding it hard to come up with the words to do justice to this exhibit. I had been thinking over the last few weeks, as I did my "last times" around Philly, about how Philadelphia is not clean, or beautiful: it's messy and complicated and contradictory, and that is why I love it. But I don't have to live in the ugliest sections, and I can leave and that makes me privileged. Strauss' work highlighted that conclusion. Her photos emphasize the broken, the scarred, the impoverished, the marginal. I think one of my questions, as a viewer, separated from the communities depicted in so many ways, is, what happens when suffering becomes 'art'? I don't have an answer. I want to keep thinking about it.

Looking forward, looking back

Well, here it is, 2012 already!

I think my goal for 2012 is just to keep moving forward, whatever happens. (Have I mentioned I hate waiting? And I'm scared to hear back from the programs I applied to?)

2012 will not be boring, no matter what!