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two.

1 Jun

sometimes I close my eyes
and try to envision what it will be like
somehow sheep always work
themselves into my visions

(statistic: there are
seven sheep to every kiwi)

but when it comes down to the fact
I can’t imagine how it will be

the uncertainty
the insurgency
the enormity

the freedom

no permanent residence
no Christmas tree in December
no room to call my own
no sense of home

just a pack flung on my back
the wide open road
and my heart’s song

I think I can live with that

~~~~~*~

six || five || four || three || two

five.

10 Feb

let me out
let me out
let me out

i’ve never been the type of girl
who shoves her face against a pillow’s front in
order to scream
for five minutes straight
due to the sheer amount of agonizing anxiety
she’s got wound up inside of
her
but today i became that girl
crocodile tears and all

wishing to be surrounded by sheep
to zorb, to run, to fall from the sky
to try something new for once
to seize this coward’s life and take a stab at bravery
deep in your heart, in your fields, in your greenery
i’m tired of this bullshit philosophizing
when i should be busy
coming to terms with what it means to be human

the moment that my visa went through
i knew i’d be useless
to this endless education

let me out
let me out
let me out

let me in
let me in
let me in

~~~~~~~~*~

This is a follow up to the poem six. My plan is to write one poem each month leading up to me taking off to New Zealand, each title counting down the months left until my departure. This one purposefully lacks capitalization/punctuation in a sort of act of rebellion against college.

officially Kiwi bound.

29 Jan

Things don’t often go right for me. Actually, no, scratch that, that’s an understatement. Things don’t ever go right for me. I’m used to the taste of rejection, sour on my tongue. Applying for wonderful internships with places such as Disney and The Daily Show, only to be turned down. Having awesome ideas for theatre pieces or performances, only to have them fall through. Putting myself forward in situations, only to be looked over for someone else. And don’t even get me started on relationships.

I’m used to it. Rejection. It follows me everywhere. It’s the reason I don’t put myself out there as often as I should. The reason I prefer quiet nights in on Saturday evenings spent in my room watching television instead of going out. It’s why I don’t speak up. It’s why I’m shy. It’s why I’m me.

So you have to understand when I say that I started sobbing the moment I found out my New Zealand visa was approved, there were a whole set of indescribable emotions behind my tears.

It’s dumb to think I wouldn’t have gotten it. Of course I was going to get it. I was always going to get it. I’m not a convict. I’ve never been kicked out of a country. I don’t have tuberculosis. I meet every single requirement needed to enter New Zealand, be it character, age, health, or place in the world. But as I sent in my application for a year long work visa in New Zealand just two days ago I told myself, “Well, okay, but there’s that chance.” That chance I wouldn’t get it. That my dreams would, yet again, betray me, leaving me to feel small and worthless and insignificant. After all, that’s what I’ve come to know.

So when I saw the word “APPROVED” underneath the word “DECISION” it felt surreal. It felt that, at last, I was getting a chance to live my life the way I’ve always wanted to. Through travel. Through adventure. Through wanderlust.

And now it’s final. I am going. I am going to live in a country I’ve never been to in my life, and I am going to live there for an entire year. I will have a friend with me for the first three or four months – and holy fuck, that is going to be so much goddamn fun – but then? Then I’m on my own. Then it’s just me and my body and my mind deep in the heart of New Zealand. There are so many endless possibilities lying in front of me right now. I’m finding it hard to breathe.

And I am so happy.
And so scared.
And so worried.
And so dazzled.
And so anxious.
And I cannot stop smiling.

For the first time ever, I think I feel whole.

A wanderlust confession.

2 Jan

For the past several weeks I’ve come to the conclusion that, when I graduate college, I want to travel to New Zealand. This is nothing new. I’ve written Facebook statuses and Tumblr entries about this multiple times, even reaching out to a few people to join me in my travels. In the end, I’ve decided that, if/when I go, I’m going to go by myself. I’m in the process of saving up money for my travels right now, and I have a considerable amount stowed away already. My dad would get me the plane ticket there as a graduation gift.

As of late, however, I’ve been consumed with this daydream of packing up and moving to New Zealand for a year. I’ve already got one freelance writing job that pays me on occasion, and I find myself hoping that they’ll start paying me full time again. If this were the case, I’d be making enough money to easily live off of for an entire year. So I could go to New Zealand, write, and travel all around the country. I could rent a cheap apartment to live in, and then on weekends travel around and see the countryside. It’s a small country, after all. Maybe meet a nice Kiwi boy and have a fling at some point. Go skiing, go hiking, meet people, interact with the culture, eat plenty of good food, and learn how to live. It’d be wonderful and beautiful and I would be free.

God, that’s all I want right now. I want out of this town. I want out of this school. I want to write. I want to live. I want to be free.

i left my heart in the sea.

20 Aug

I spoke to my father today on the phone, and we’ve made plans for my brother, him, and I to go to the beach in less than a month. Even though we’re only going for three days, I can’t wipe this grin off my face. My heart is overflowing with so much joy right at this very moment.

Early morning runs on the beach. Sitting in the grass by the stream. Grabbing coffee from the tiny cafe just up the street. Window shopping in Cannon town. Feeding the seals in the Seaside Aquarium. Playing arcade games with Anthony. Watching Miss Doubtfire and Forrest Gump at day’s end. Eating at Dooger’s. Candy shopping at Bruce’s. Sitting on the back porch and writing. True bliss.

I left my heart at Cannon Beach long ago, and there shall it forever reside.

Away I Go

22 Mar

At long last, all the waiting and wanting and yearning and longing is finally paying off. I’m off to Italy for ten days (well, nine, seeing as 24 hours will be devoted to being on a plane). The taxi just dropped us off at the airport. I guess this is me signing off until I’m back in the ol’ US of A.

As the great Charles Muntz once said: “Adventure is out there.”

Time for me to have an adventure.

Ciao.

I Left My Heart In The Sea

7 Mar

Right now my greatest fantasy, above all else, above Italy and airports and Disneyland, is to go to my family’s lil’ beach house located in Cannon Beach, on my own (well, my cat could come too), for a whole month, and do absolute nothing but write and contemplate myself, life, and the universe. How great would that be? And how great is this fantasy of mine? Well, this morning, simply because I wanted to, I made up a schedule of what every day would consist of if I got to live out this dream. And yes, I’m about to share it with you all.

  • I would wake up every morning at 9am (sometimes earlier, but never later)
  • I would eat breakfast and check up on the internet while watching The Daily Show or The Colbert Report
  • I would go down to the beach for a brisk morning walk (sometimes a run, if I feel up to it)
  • I would then come back to the house and write for anywhere from an hour to three hours, depending on how inspired I’m feeling (sometimes I’d do this at the coffee shop down the road from the house)
  • By this point it’d be about one o’clock or so, and I would then do one of following things:
    • Head into Cannon town and window shop, go to the library, eat lunch, grocery shop, frequent Bruce’s, read, and sometimes write some more
    • Catch a bus and head over to Seaside and window shop, eat lunch, read, go on the tilt-a-whirl, visit the arcade and carrousel, and go to the beach
    • Spend the day reading at the beach across the street from my beach house
    • Wander around the little suburb neighborhoods of Cannon taking pictures of the houses and people
    • Go see a movie or two, depending what’s in theaters at the time
    • Go horseback riding
    • Stay at the house all day reading/watching TV and movies/writing if the mood strikes me/surfing the internet/etc.
  • Then, around four o’clock, wherever I am, be it in town or at home or at the beach, I would try to sit down and write for at least an hour. Most likely longer.
  • For dinner I could go either of two ways:
    • Home
      • I would make myself dinner, which I then would eat while reading/watching TV and then I’d take a walk out on the beach as the sun sets
    • In town
      • I wouldn’t be able to stay in Seaside at night, since the bus stops after a certain time, but I could for Cannon. I’d eat at Doogers, the pizza place, the restaurant with a fire on its sign, Mo’s, the pub next door to my house, or whatever suits my fancy.
  • Evening activities could go one of two ways as well:
    • Home
      • I’d do my exercise routine from my workout booklet, shower, straighten my hair while watching TV/a movie, and then pretty much spend the rest of the night watching TV, surfing the internet, and writing if the mood strikes me
    • Out and about
      • There isn’t too much night life in Cannon, but there are a few nightly activities. I could catch a late showing of a movie, there’s a community theatre I’ve always wanted to go to, some wine tastings, and, more often than not, there are bars. It’s not that I’d go out often, but I’d imagine it’d be nice to get out a couple nights a week. Plus I could always do a late night stroll on the beach.
  • I’d curl up in bed and read until 1pm, then turn off the light and pass out.

That, to me, sounds so perfect right now. I want to do this. Can I please? Can’t I just get away from the Moby Dick essay and Elizabethan poetry and the stress of school and life? Please?

Seventeen.

6 Mar

Seventeen more days until I get to wake up at five o’clock in the morning, groaning and whining because I stayed up far too late the night before as my father, quite literally, drags me out of bed, leads me to the kitchen, and places me in front of a bowl of cereal, which I then mindlessly eat as my brother mirrors my actions from across the table.

Seventeen more days until we stand in a long, agonizing line, still groggy from lack of sleep, removing such trivial things like shoes, earrings, belts, necklaces, and spare change and discarding all of our belongings into blue plastic trays as we cross under a metal arch, praying not to hear that agonizing BLEEP that means having to embarrassingly recheck yourself in front of everyone behind you in line.

Seventeen more days until I get to wander through the much tinier version of Powell’s Books, clutching a grande white mocha that my father bought me from the Starbucks down the green hall, sifting through the shelves of books until one catches my eye that I decide will make a good read once I’ve reached my final destination.

Seventeen more days until I get to buckle up, sit back, and soar high through the air and leave all the stress of school, worries of peers, dreads of finances far behind me.

Seventeen more days until I get to spend five hours doing nothing but reading any book of my choosing, most likely one that I’ve been dying to read all term, while also staring out the window and admiring the rows upon rows of clouds and thinking to myself “Wow. There is nothing more beautiful than this.”

Seventeen more days until I get to explore a different, exciting airport that I haven’t been to in years, begging my dad to buy my brother and I lunch at a nice restaurant and then snooping around stores to see if I can find a possible birthday gift for my roommate.

Seventeen more days until I get to spend eight hours high up in the air reading, playing sudoku, listening to music, writing, watching whatever’s on the television monitors, and possibly forcing myself to gt at least a couple hours of sleep before landing.

Seventeen more days until I’m in Italy.

Seventeen more days until happiness.

Socializing with Sloths :: A Possible Adventure?

3 Mar

The world never ceases to amaze and astound me with all its limitless possibilities that it presents me with daily that I find I so desperately would like to do.

As I’ve talked about before in previous blog entries, I’m right now internship hunting. I’ve got some considerable prospects with being a production intern for The Daily Show, and I’ve put in applications to work with Sesame Workshop, the Henson Company, and Conan. I’m still browsing, but these are the internships I am most interested in at this time. Though I’d really like any of them, I am well aware that there is that chance I wont get one. Internships are competitive; I know this. They’re not easy to obtain. What’s more, you really have to impress in order to get one, which is hard when you can only do so over the internet and the phone.

That being said, if I don’t get any of these internships or any others that I might apply to this month, I think I found the solution of what I want to do with my summer.

College summer, in the past, has bummed me out. Everyone goes back to their hometown and I’m stuck in Ashland working all by my lonesome. This summer will be even worse because a great majority of my friends are graduating and moving away for good (including my two best college friends), whereas I’m staying in college an extra year to fulfill all my double major/single minor requirements so I will be here, again, this summer.

I learned two summers ago that what can make a dreary summer bearable is an excursion to somewhere outside of Oregon. I love Oregon, but I’ve lived here twenty-one years of my life and it’s really nice to get out every once in a while. In the summer of 2010 my best friend, Brynne, and I ran off down to LA for three whole days. We did some sightseeing, visited Disneyland, walked the Hollywood strip, stayed in a hostile, and had the grandest of times. Last summer? Got to go home to Portland for a week and that was really it. It was pretty dull.

So, what is my plan if my internships fall through?

Yes. Sloths. In a Sloth Sanctuary. In Costa Rica.

I’m sure some of you are thinking, “Huba-wah? From TV intern to sloth sanctuary volunteer? From LA/NY to Costa Rica? What? What is this?” It’s an odd turn, I’m well aware. Well, just so the world knows, I am very much a lover of sloths. I’ve been riding the I Love Sloths train long before Kristen Bell had her sloth moment on Ellen last month. I think they’re positively fascinating creatures. Not to mention they’re absolutely adorable.

You can’t get much cuter than that.

Anyway, I was indulging in some very adorable baby sloth videos today and at the end of one of them there was a url. I followed it and it took me to the homepage for The Sloth Sanctuary. Here is their mission statement:

Our mission is to rescue, research, rehabilitate sloths and provide sanctuary for those individuals that are unable to return to the wild. Our goals are to educate and document the natural history of these incredible rainforest mammals.

How wonderful is that?

They take in orphaned and injured sloths and take care of them. If the sloths are too badly wounded to return to the wild then they are kept at the sanctuary to be cared for, and if they are orphaned or not too badly wounded they are nursed to health and then released back into the rain forest. There are over 150 sloths in the Sanctuary at this time.

Basically how the volunteer program works is you can either apply to stay for either less than two weeks ($80) or more than two weeks ($65). Why is staying longer cheaper? Because over the course of the first two weeks you gain so much information and training, and if you don’t stay for a longer period of time the Sanctuary doesn’t really get to reap the benefits of your knowledge. For those of you who think a fee for volunteering doesn’t make sense, you are very wrong. It’s actually pretty generous. According to the web-site the fee covers:

  • Dormitory-style accommodations
  • Three meals per day
  • Laundry (1 x weekly)
  • Linen change and maid service (1 x weekly)
  • Opportunity to work with sloths and other local flora and fauna
  • Opportunity to educate others and improve global knowledge on sloths
  • Opportunity to learn and practice Spanish
  • Free use of canoes and rain forest trails during free time
  • Opportunity to explore local rain forest paths
  • Access to local sloth experts
  • WiFi Access to the Internet
  • Opportunity to meet new people from all around the world

Seriously, how amazing is all of that? For only $65? You’d be crazy not to pass that up. (Of course you are responsible for paying for airfare/traveling to the destination/purchases while in Costa Rica, which I think makes perfect sense. It’s expensive but, for me, it’d still be worth it).

Why do I want to do this? I’ve already talked about wanting to get out this summer and my love of sloths, but the chance to go out into the rain forest, learn something new, meet people from all around the world, and probably gain a better understanding of myself as a person? Why wouldn’t I want to do this? There are two volunteer positions I’m most interested in. There’s the Core Volunteers, who are the ones that do all the tending to sloths, and there is also an Artist-In-Residence Program, where if you’re a photographer, writer, painter, blogger, etc. they ask you to come and use your artistic abilities to help get the word out about sloth endangerment. I’d much rather work as a Core Volunteer, so if I were to do this then I would mention in the application that I could also offer my help as a photographer, writer, and blogger. I think if I were to go I’d stay for a month.

So will this be a thing I do? It really depends. I’m not going to hear back from The Daily Show until April, and I’m not sure if I’ll even get an interview with any of the other places I applied. If I get one of the other internships I will obviously take that on, as that’ll be a once in a lifetime deal whereas the Sloth Sanctuary will be there in my future for me to one day visit. But if by the end of April I have no summer plans except to stay here and wallow in the loneliness that is Ashland, then you can bet I will be putting in an application. For now though I am keeping calm and quietly putting the Sanctuary at the back of my mind. I did only discover this opportunity this morning and I do have a tendency to be a little over zealous about things just discovered. So if none of the internships work out and the end of April rolls around, hopefully I will be just as ecstatic about this opportunity as I was two months earlier. And, if I don’t go? I can also donate money to the cause via the internet.

Let’s just hope I get to have an exciting adventure in New York, Los Angeles, or Costa Rica this upcoming summer as either an intern or a volunteer!

(And, if all else fails, there is always Comic-Con.)

Romance Before Take Off

28 Feb

There is something so romantic about airports.

Does anyone else agree with me? I mean, no, they’re not romantic when you’re thirty minutes behind schedule, and you’re rushing and agonizing about how long all the lines are. Not to mention security, that can be a real pain when you’re running late. This is why I like going to airports an hour early. I love giving myself that extra time so that there never is any rush. I love wandering through airports. I love poking around in all the shops. I love my ritual of always buying one book from an airport bookstore before I get on the plane. I love people watching; watching the people run to catch a flight or reunite with someone they haven’t seen in a long, long time. I love grabbing a cup of coffee from the airport cafe. I love photographing airports. And I love the sheer sense of adventure that overtakes you. You could take off and fly absolutely anywhere. The opportunities are so immense and limitless. That feeling twenty minutes before you have to board your plane and you’re walking to your gate? That is my favorite feeling on this earth.

Is it strange that I’m getting giddy just thinking about going to an airport in three weeks? Maybe not, seeing as that airport leads to an airplane which then leads to Italy… but still. I know I’ve been in airports dozens upon dozens of times, but I can’t help myself.

There is just something so romantic about airports.