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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

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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?