Things I Want

An abridged list.

- zeppelins, of the regular and Led sort

- warm rain

- someone to play in the rain with

- reciprocated feelings

- someone to hold me tight when things aren't okay

- more late night conversations

- more daytime conversations

- less pity, more understanding

- fewer emotions

- to be able to re-do

- to be different. to be better.

- sunflowers to be here again, they are my favorite sort of flower

- to not hate myself

- success, any sort really

- to be happy

- to know what I want.

Day 1-Morning

Eric woke up very early and inadvertently woke me and Cecily up. After Eric was done, Cecily and I hopped in the bathroom. The contents of the bathroom were as such: a toilet and sink, both very modern and nice; all four walls were tiled, as was the floor, which sloped downward to a drain in the corner of the room; a shower head that didn't work; a faucet lower down, a bucket to collect water from that faucet, and a smaller bucket to, y'know, make easier access to the water. So that you could bathe with it. Uhm, le duh. Actually, it's sort of a rad way to bathe. After three weeks, I was very glad to have a real, hot shower, but it was still quite fun. And much less wasteful of water.

After Cecily and I showered and got ready [yes, we showered together, and no, we are not dating-deal. completely platonic. we were getting clean. (we DID get a lot of guff about it though, hence the sort of angry explanation. Eric refused to accept that we were just showering-after a while Cecily and I gave up and just went along with it-hilariosity ensued)], and not knowing what time it was, I took my meds. Turns out it was five in the morning, and here's the thing. That did not go well for me. My body got friggin' piiissed. So I vomited and then got on with the day; after I ate I felt pretty good. But, back to my chronological tale involving too much detail.

I tossed the bucket (what a delightfully crude colloquialism, no?) and Eric was really freaked out. He kept trying to come into the bathroom but Cecily kept shoving him out. Men do not handle situations well. (Broad, inaccurate statement Mondays!) Welp, once  that was over, we all went down the hall to the dining room (which we later slept in, by the by) and munched. They had the most delicious stuffed parantha, but the first day on account of stomach upset I just had toast and jam. The toast was adorable, because no toasters? So, oven toasted toast. It was the strangest consistency too, because they obviously don't really make white bread the same as in the states. And the jam was much too too sweet. A thimbleful was too much for one piece of toast. Also?! Mango juice! Sooooo tasty. Mangoes are the best fruit ever, this I posit. Here's the thing, if we're ever in a fight? Invite me to a park to share a mango with you. I will love you forever.

Alrighty, well. Since the three of us had gotten up much too early, we finished breakfast before a lot of the kids were even awake. As such, Cec and I were sort of anxious to be doing something or anything because hullo, we were in India. So we convinced Eric to take us out and about, around the block that we didn't cover the night before. It was crowded and warm already, and the pollution was thick, and the streets smelled of sewage and people and fruit. It was great.

Eric bought us some paan, which is an...hum, like a homemade chew? It involves many different spices, tobacco, and lime paste all wrapped up in a betel leaf. You put it in the pocket of your cheek and suck on it, occasionally spitting out the juice. It was...interesting? I prefer other intakes of tobacco myself. Though, some fool in our group, I can't remember who it was, it might have been Josh? They chewed and ate the paan. You suck on it, then spit it out, and they ate it! Ohh, nasteh. The flower vendor sitting next to the paan vendor gave me two red carnations, they were lovely. Flowers are always lovely to receive though. Ask anyone. Except Jamie. She's weird. I love her so bad though, it's okay.

After that, Eric took us to "his" barber, a lovely little shop consisting of three walls, and filled to the brim with everything. Eric sat on one of the chairs and young boy, about 12 or 13, shaved him (not completely, obviously, just a trim), and Cec and I sat on the other chair, and got our pictures taken a lot.

You spent half of your life trying to fall behind; you're using your headphones to drown out your mind ~ Eet by Regina Spektor

A Glimpse Of Old Delhi

We drove through the (relatively) cleanly streets of New Delhi and progressed into Old Delhi, where our hotel was located. Old Delhi is, as you would imagine, older than surrounding areas. The buildings are solid stone structures with simple but classical Indian architecture, though it is sometimes hard to see since the fronts of buildings are often covered by numerous signs. (Some memorable signs from our street in Old Delhi: Hercules, Steel Balls, Solid Steel Balls, looots of bike shops-it was sort of the bike shop street, so. y'know). The road was as wide as the usual two lane road, but it seemed much, much more narrow. On one side of the road large trucks (dump-truck style, and pimped out. they decorate the trucks and rickshaws hardcore), rickshaws (often with their owners asleep on top of them; on our street mostly bicycle rickshaws), and on both sides of the road were stalls, kiosks, tables and rugs on the ground offering wares. It was fabulous.

Even that late/early, there were plenty of people on the street to witness us fall out of the taxis, dragged down by weighty packs and jet-lag. After paying the drivers, we filed down an alley-passing a double door with the famous King Kong scene (King Kong on top of the building, raging at the planes) painted onto it-and turned left, through the glass door of our hotel and into the lobby. The lobby was small, but still very nice, with a computer, television, front desk and even a lift! The old school sort, with the metal cage behind the wood door, and then the lift. The hotel had three floors, all tiled, and the roof. After rooms had been sorted out, and luggage thrown into the respective rooms, we split into two groups: the total nerds, who stayed to wash up and sleep; and the adventurers, who went on a little walk about Old Delhi.

We walked down the alley in the opposite direction we had come from, and ended up on a wider street where vendors and merchants were already setting up shop for the early crowd. We passed fruit stands, carpet sellers, and people frying up some breakfasts. As we were passing rickshaws parked on the side of the road (already hassling us, wanting to give us rides-one dude even followed us along for quite a while) about to turn onto the main road that the Red Fort was on, a young boy (maybe 10 or 12) came up to us, begging for money purportedly for chai. This claim caused Eric to question the boy "someone wanna buy this kid some chai? here, oh yeah, where's your chai? what chai you gunna buy? take us to the chai, we'll buy it you some." And with that Alex grabbed the kids hand, and he took us back the way we came, (not all the way of course) turning left into a little enclave of a community. Here, there were few shanty houses-just blankets on benches or the ground, people lined up, as the phrase goes, like sardines, on the ground. Sometimes there was a blanket strung up to create a barrier. I don't know how far the scene went, as it was very dark, but to the edge of my vision was this sorry sight.

The little boy had led us to a table where a man was boiling water, surrounded by a few men having a chat before work began. Eric ordered chai for anyone who wanted some, feeling generous since it was five rupees a cup (appx. 10 cents). I took him up on the offer, and oh am I glad. It was the most delicious drink I've ever had, legitimately. I scalded my fingertips as I held the cheap plastic cup, and my taste buds were burnt beyond tasting for the next few hours, but that chai was the best chai I had the entire trip. By the time everyone who wanted chai had some, our small group was completely surrounded. (Entirely by men, by the way). Hillary was sitting on a bench in front of the chai table and two men sat next to her, requesting photos. We were being pressed in upon by all sides, but mostly it was innocent curiosity. Eric made two 'best friends,' who spoke absolutely three words of english max, and we all had a lovely time. On our way back to the hotel we got sort of creepered on, but no worries. Then Cecily, Eric and I made our way up the third floor and went to bed.

If I die young, fill my empty room with the sun ~ Empty Room by Marjorie Fair

Hello, New Delhi

The first day of the trip consisted almost solely of sitting in an airborne vessel or, worse, simply sitting. Our first flight was from the SLC airport to Chicago - a very quick flight (or it seemed so at the time). Our plane encountered some technical difficulties once we landed though, and we all ended up sitting for two hours on the tarmac. That made us late for our flight from Chicago to New Delhi, but luckily our group was so large that they held the plane for us - though we felt awful about holding up the other passengers, so we ran through the Chicago airport to our gate. Running through a ridiculously large airport with backpacks on was sort of an adventure, but I would be fine never doing it again. Once we boarded, I had 18 hours with which to experience my first transatlantic flight. (Also the longest commercial flight offered in the world). It was dreadful really. I sat next to Sonora and Owens and Cecily. Take that as you will. I did however watch The Men Who Stare At Goats, and it was pretty fabulous. I recommend.

The flight was long, and I hardly slept. The plane ride was, in its defense, not an exercise in amusement, simply a mean to an end, and what an end it was. After everyone had collected their baggage and gone to the bathroom and changed their money (good god, we lost approximately 2,000 dollars from some cheats at the airport-I was lucky, and didn't go to the money changers that were sneakily charging people, but some children lost quite a chunk) we all piled into taxis and off we went through the streets of Delhi, to our hotel The Tara Palace.

I know everything I say from here on out will be the utmost in ridiculous clichés, but, as a friend once told me, clichés have become cliché for a reason.

Stepping out of the air-conditioned plane, the cool (for Delhi) night air seemed almost stifling. Though I became accustomed to it (and even enjoyed it) quite quickly, there was an awful lot of bitching from others in the group. *cough* Eric and Carl *cough* We snaked our way out of the airport, finding it necessary to form a double- or single-file line because of the sheer number of people. This was not average airport crowding. There were seas of people, and (much more pleasing to my eyes at least, no offense, but I miss family) they were all brown. As our group quickly got used to, everyone in eyesight, was staring (well, most of our group accepted it. Winter still threatened to punch people far into the trip, if they stared too much or for too long). I couldn't blame them, I mean. We were quite a sight: 24 white people, with hefty baggage trouping around in single file. I laughed at us a few times myself. What a motley crew we made.

Into the taxis we went. A note about 'Indian' cars (cars in India, dunno where they were made, so): they look very small and cramped, but inside are quite spacious. So I know it's very possible to fit eight or ten people into a seemingly four person car. And we saw that a lot, participating only a few times. In my taxi was Marcy (my new bffsie, I love that girl), Cecily (she called shotgun, it was terrible), and Eric. I somehow got stuck in the middle (not somehow; our driver almost left Eric, who was running around making sure every student was accounted for, so he had to run and jump into the side seat), but I encroached on Eric's side of the car and looked out his window. It was...beautiful. Not in the "lovely looking" sort of sense, but. Well, it was dark so it was incredibly difficult to see (legally blind and what not) and the pollution was so thick in the air that there was a permanent fog. But that added to the look of the place. Speeding down the road (at least 100 km/h, and in Indian traffic that is no small feat) I caught sight of buildings built the way I love - square, stacked, dilapidated concrete buildings set close to incredibly old, beautifully constructed (Indian architecture is possibly my favorite, ever) temples, minarets were everywhere, and in the skyline rectangular and spire-like (is that how you would describe the top of buildings such as the Taj Mahal? If not, then just imagine the top of the Taj Mahal) shadows dominated above the palm trees. Even in the dark, I could see the greenness surrounding us.

As we drove past the ambassadorial/government streets (those were the first we passed in order to get to our hotel) the sweet smell of blooming flowers and fruit mixed with the humidity and thickness of pollution. It was (despite what you might think after that botched description) delightful, and somehow fresh. Very sweet. Though it didn't last long. Quickly we passed the perfectly manicured mansions of foreign diplomats, and got on to the real city. Here, the smell of sewers and spices and fruits intermingled, in a not immediately pleasant aroma. But once you adjust to it, it's quite alright. It is the smell of people and living and working and food.

Well, I know this is too long to be pleasant light reading, but. Alas. They all sort of come out in a kajumble, memories do. I have a college interview, so more later. But also wish me luck! Belated luck though it will be once you read this..whatever.

Life goes on the same, you bury the pain and hold onto love ~ Somewhere Else by Travis

Back In The U.S.(S.R.)

So. I happen to be back in the Americas again. Adjusting is difficult. Incredibly so, actually. I know nothing is probably different but. Goodness, that does not seem like the case.

Now, I know I should have been writing from India, but good lord. It is a bitch and three quarters to get internet in India, and whenever there was internet, 21 teenagers were scurrying to check their the Facebooks. Here is a quick little recap while I write some decent blogs about my fabtastic journey.

(Jamie, this is literally copy-paste what I wrote to you, by the by):

- I rode a camel! All by myself.

- I tried opium (bitter, with too much sugar)

- I rode a train for the very first time (quite enjoyable - not the 23 hour ride though)

- I talked to the Maharaja of Jodhpur's uncle (I love him)

- And I swam in the ocean? Not really swam. I sat in the ocean and Eric tried to drown me.

- I figured out how to compartmentalize very well. (Incredibly useful)

- I made some lovely new friends (Indian and our very own Waldenites alike - we have some darling children)

- I solidified broken ties. (Dare I say I cauterized the wounds? There are no chances of reattachment now)

- I love Jodhpur and I love Jaipur and I love Delhi.

- I love the Himalayas.

- I love overcrowded cities and bustle and too much going on and I love cows in the road and honking and noise.

- I love the smell of fresh fruit and spices and tobacco and cheap foreign cigarettes.

- I love monkeys in the streets and the warmth and green and buildings that are hundreds of years old.

- I love laundry hanging out to dry; I love the brilliant colors of saris and salwar kameezs freshly washed in water from a holy river against the murky blue sky.

- I almost died five times a day; I love Indian traffic.

- I only got lost once, and it wasn't just me - three other people.

- I have awful jet-lag (not really) and I'm really tired so I'm going to bed.

Tomorrow, in depth adventures?!?

Dallas Hanson is a GIRL

Oh, and also he's one of my favorite people ever. Even though I strive after others' attention much more than his, he is one of the best friends I have ever had. There are a few things that very, very matter to me and they matter to him to, because he is a good guy? Dally, te amo.

Lars And The Real Girl is a beautiful movie. I highly recommend it to everyone ever.

Things I know nothing about, volume-this moment: ethics and morality.

The concept doesn't hardly make sense to me either. It is very problematic, since I obviously judge people on "moral" issues, or with the conviction of them being in the "wrong." And yet, I have no defined ethical systems. I don't even analyze my responses to others' actions, I simply act on instinct without question or thought. Hell, I don't even bother to rationalize what I do, I just go head first. I pick one goal (not necessarily the path of least resistance, often the opposite) and I push for it with all my might. That is not rational behaviour. Not that I have ever claimed to be rational. I would just appreciate being less instinct driven. If that's what you would call it? The only reason I hesitate, is because I do not necessarily choose actions that I want or need. A lot of the time, I do not even have a conscious reason for doing something. It is just an impulse.

It is hard for me to grasp the notion of right and wrong. It is too...abstract, I suppose? And, I have no defined world view, so I cannot use one to help me understand the other. I don't even know what I'm looking for, to be quite honest. Some sort of quasi-logical justification for my actions, or something "good" to base my future actions off, I reckon?

Erg, this is why I hate taking classes that come close to making me think. They make me remember that I can't think. I have the critical thinking skills of a fifth grader, no common sense, and the complete inability to make any proper abstract connections. I cannot think for myself, is what I think it boils down to. Leading me to befriend those with either strong opinions, or at least very pervasive presences, or especially those who can lay bare human machinations, and determine motives, drives, ambitions, etc. But now I'm bored of talking about this, seeing as I'm making no headway, and also, I'm bored.

Words are worth not the coherency of their constructions, but the intent of their utterance.

Oh, hey. Also, I think everyone needs this in their life. 'Cause. C'mon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3rFNbSKpEE

Well it's hard to feel happy when that's not how you feel, and yours is just one of the million beating hearts ~ Tell The Stars by Balthrop, Alabama

Recuerdo

So, I was just reminded by the Facebook that my birthday is tomorrow. Teenage personalities are so very pliable, and I find it strange and worrisome, but probably for the best. A few years ago, around this time, I was an incredibly different person. I was angrier. I was more impulsive. I did what I wanted when I felt like it; my existence was based solely on instant gratification. I was the happiest and the saddest I have ever been. I was selfish and selfless, in such different capacities than I am now. I isolated myself, because I knew the world was rough. I made very poor decisions, and I took the consequences with a stoicism I now envy. I was living quickly. A tiny, resilient, rebellious flame, and god help anyone who crossed my path.

I'm changing, slowly. Hopefully for the better.

I don't know where I am, and I do not know where I am going. But at this moment in time, I want to be going somewhere. I've set myself up for a big fall, but I've made leaps of faith before.

But it's seven plus one from here to where I wanna be ~ Floating Bridge by MC Frontalot

Holy Positivity, Batman!

In an effort to counter my massive negativity, this post is going to be solely for the purpose of self-validation. If you want to know things I like about myself, read on fellow. If not, AVERT YOUR GAZE.

I like to sing, and I like my voice.

I can play the cello like nobody's business.

I can write relatively well.

I am going to graduate.

I am very loyal.

I will help those I care about without a second thought.

I am pretty.

I like to draw and I like what I draw.

I am not a narcissist.

I like that I will always rather forgive than forget.

I like that I am trusting, even though I always trust the wrong people.

I am bilingual, and I love to speak Spanish.

I am willing to make leaps of faith.

I like that I will do something just because it feels right.

I will not hurt people around me for personal gain.

I like my idiosyncrasies.

I especially like that other people pick up my idiosyncrasies.

I like my hair when I get out of the shower.

I can do calculus. Not necessarily with ease, but I can sort it all out.

Every time I say "I love you" I mean it.

And that wraps it up for now, kidlets. Hope you're all swell, or at least not terribly shitty.

But I ain't givin' up quite yet, I've got too much to lose ~ Sweet and Low by Augustana

Inquisitions And Tornadoes

Old poem, I liked it a lot, but it's kind of short. My friend Cheyenne enlisted me to write some slam, so. It's intended to be read aloud, y'know.

Be Like

Don't cry cardboard, baby.

It paper-cuts too deep and

you can't even

river me

with it.

Don't bite your fingers to water, Jamie.

You only have so much

and I can't kiss it better

when you've stopped beating.

Don't stomp the stairs down, Johnny.

How will I climb to your love dressed in

sorry because

I can't climb walls, Peter.

I'm too afraid of jumping down.

Don't ignite, Chloe.

I'm buried too deep to put you out

and who will broom up your ash eyes

with weeping willow fingers?

Don't charcoal horses, Tommy.

You used up all the gas

when you reversed the world's turn

and all the little birds upside-down fell

away.

Don't sad sky, emily.

Sad sunsets

so that I

can sunrise you happy.

Don't dream nightingales

dream mockingbirds.