I did it!

I made it.  Here I am, sitting in my room in Astoria typing a blog post about how I've moved to New York.  Hard to believe that this is my new home.  It doesn't feel like reality yet.  I'm used to coming to New York and staying with my friend Liam, so it feels normal.  Although, I did have a moment as I was staring into my newly delivered boxes; part of me thought, "why didn't I just leave this stuff in Hawaii," while another part of me remembered, "oh yeah, it's not my home anymore."  Otherwise, I'm just taking each day as it comes and nothing feels too weird or out of place.

Going to Portland and hanging out with my friends for a few days helped me to not feel the sting of all that I was leaving behind, which was a heck of a lot.  And brings me to the very valid question that everyone is asking: why did I leave Hawaii and in the winter?  It doesn't make much sense.  I mean, I finally felt at home there after years of feeling like some kind of mainland invader and was even helping to raise Teldyn--one of the most valuable experiences of my life.  Well, I yearned to be more than an office manager living with my brother.  When I tried to branch out to find work that better suited my potential, my lack of a Master's degree continued to be a barrier.  So this summer I made the decision not only to return to school but to move to a place that would challenge me personally, professionally, and intellectually.  Wanting to live in New York since I was in high school, it seemed an obvious choice.  However, I want to be clear, leaving Hawaii and Teldyn is the hardest thing I remember ever having to do, and that's part of why I'm doing it.  I needed to step out of my comfort zone, to test myself, to grow.  Leaving Hawaii after I made it my home, feels like I've left on my own terms instead of running from something; and it provides me the added security and luxury of knowing that I have a whole life to go back to in Hawaii if and when I want to.

Now I'm applying to New York University, New School, and City University of New York for their programs in Public Policy.  I want to learn about what policies work, how they can work better, and the potential for applications.  In order to afford those first two schools, I'm applying for jobs there to get the benefit of free tuition after one year of employment.  And that, right there, is the reason why I made this move in January, of all months.  I'm hoping to get a job as soon as possible, so that when I start school in September, it won't be too long before I can get the tuition remission.

I spent my very first day here (Wednesday) unpacking and cleaning.  The next day, I did some food shopping and met up with a friend in Manhattan where I was recognized by another friend who happened to be at the same bar.  (I guess this city isn't as big as people say it is.)  Yesterday and today, I took it easy.  I haven't been feeling very well (congestion, sore throat, slight fever), so it's been a good excuse to stay inside and sleep, which I'm much better at than I thought I'd be.

It's cold here.  The kind of cold that makes your eyes water, and since I haven't really experienced winter in four years, I'm approaching it the way a bear would--hibernation.  Luckily, staying warm and rested has meant that I'm kicking this cold pretty fast, and I'll be ready to get back in the city in no time.

I'm not really sure what this blog will look like now.  It's not going to be about my jaunts and travels (for a while), but if I keep up with it, it could be about my biggest adventure yet.  Are you ready?  'Cause I'm ready. 

Let's Talk Crazy

A woman in front of me on the bus is looking at her reflection in the window and mouthing an animated conversation to herself. And frankly, I'm jealous. I enjoy communicating and expressing my ideas verbally (in case you couldn't tell) and that doesn't change when I'm alone. Conversing is one of my favorite past times, so indeed I would enjoy spending my bus trips honing my vocalization skills. However, such an action would inevitably make me subject to the thoughts and judgements which I'm, of course, casting on her: craaaazy.

Now, we're told, "just do what makes you happy as long as you're not hurting others. Who cares what people think?" But crossing the crazy line is a step we don't mess with. Probably because there's little way to step back. Even if we only cross it once, we're still that person who went crazy that time; and that leads to those uncomfortable glances, judgmental glares, and hushed tones we fear the most. It's a really scary place to be. We can't reason our way out of it. I mean, since when was "I'm not crazy" a believable statement? Crazy is the social hole from which we never truly ascend.

Now, I suppose if I really wanted to engage in a self-chat, I could pretend to be on the phone, but to make it believable it's more disruptive and intrusive than the method chosen by my (slightly stinky) fellow rider. Plus, people might figure it out since I'd still likely carry on both sides myself.

So in a fit of jealousy and craving, I've opted for a more socially acceptable way to talk to myself: blog.

USA! USA! USA!

When I was in Guatemala, a Dutch woman asked me and Mike if we were proud to be American.  Mike then went on to explain the problems of that question; that being American is so inextricably linked to who we are--our identity--that a pride or shame about it would inevitably also reflect how we felt about ourselves and therefore, probably not what she really wanted to ask.  I disliked the question for another reason.  I am proud to be an American (because I'm proud of who I am), but I feel that comes with it the need to defend myself against foreigners and US citizens alike who think that means that I must then love everything our nation does.

I've traveled to over thirty countries and roughly as many US states, and I love the United States.  Now, that does not mean that I think it's "the best country in the world" (whatever that means).  It means that I love it.  Kind of like my parents.  I didn't get to choose them, but I am (largely) who I am because of them.  They're my favorite parents in the world--but really only 'cause their mine, not because I have any empirical evidence that they're superior to other parents.  And besides, that has nothing to do with why I love them.  They have traits that make them great parents and great people.  Similarly, the US has traits that make it a great place to live and a great country.

So, being that today is July 4th, I'm going to go on a bit about what I love about the United States and its people.  (Didn't see that one comin', did ya?)

US Americans maintain a reverence for the tenacious farmer, the enterprising business-owner, an infatuation with the intrepid explorer, and the determined immigrant.

We value the outdoors: barbecues, camping, sleds, mountains, lakes, pets...
physicality: baseball, football, basketball, and sportsmanship...
celebrations: parades, awards, roller coasters, bright lights, block parties, pies...
exploring: road trips, RVs, motorcycles...

The natural beauty, as revealed in they very concept of a National Park, is unparalleled not only in its ecological variety but in the nation's unified desire to protect it.

I love that we have no official national language.  We don't force people to learn English, limit its transformation, or guarantee that it will always be spoken by the majority of us.

I love how the diversity of our 300 million people also brings endless varieties of skin colors, food, traditions, rituals, music, dances, and seeming contradictory values.  

We value functionality over aesthetics and love frivolity and escapism.
We cheer for rebels and respect authority.
We stand against injustice and root for the underdog and maintain our global preeminence.
We cherish individualism and isolation and promote hospitality and community.
We resist government involvement and practice volunteerism and philanthropy.

I love that we were founded on principles and "universal truths."  We became a nation through great thought and planning, whether or not we live up to our forefathers' intentions, or even if their intentions were as pure as we like to imagine, those ideals bring great potential.  That's what I love most about our country, not so much what we are, but what we could be.  I can call, visit, and email my legislators, propose legislation, protest, and vote--and I have.  I will continue to question what our country does, how it spends my taxes, and whom it is genuinely helping; and for that ability to devote my life to helping my country be the best it can be, I love the United States of America.  

Camera Curse

Yup, it happened again.  It's now official: I am cursed.  This is the fourth trip from which I've returned without the functioning camera I left with.  (And that's not even counting the time it was stolen in China and recovered by a what-would-likely-be-illegal-in-the-US police search of the thief's car.)  Being stripped of photographic abilities once while traveling in another country is a shame; twice, is a little crazy; three times is ridiculous; and four times, is clearly a curse.

Before I run through a breakdown of the history, I feel it is important to note that each of these four digital cameras have been waterproof up to 10 feet.  Considering how much I love to be in, near, and on the water, it just made sense for me to have a camera that would (purportedly) survive a submerging.

1.) China - Stolen toward the end of my trip from my bag on a sleeper bus while I slept.  (This was shortly after it had been recovered by police.) Full memory cards lost.

(purchased a new camera)

2.) India - Broke while on a rafting ride the second day of my trip.  It filled with water despite being well above the 10' depth limit.  Memory card saved but basically empty anyway.

(replaced for free by manufacturers)

3.) Fiji - Broke when Chuck borrowed it for snorkeling and followed an eel below 10'.  Memory card saved and Mom, Dad, and Chuck were all clicking away on this trip anyway.

(Chuck bought me a new camera)

4.) Guatemala - No f'ing clue what happened.  It just vanished.  I don't see how it could have been stolen, and I don't remember leaving it anywhere (though, I suppose the "not remembering" is the key to "leaving" things).

(I'm now giving up.)

I was taking such great pictures too; not the usual peace sign pose in front of the monuments, but rather the restaurants, meals, and hotels we enjoyed--the elements that make trips unique and lovely.  Ugh.

For full disclosure, there were two trips to the Philippines (one before and one after Fiji) during which my cameras safely returned home.  However, it's time for me to accept that cameras and I are "friends off."

Luckily, I keep journals of my trips, so they're all well-documented; just not in the convenient worth-1000-words-without-having-to-read kind of way.  (Sidenote: my journal was very detailed this past trip--think it has to do with being accustomed to texting or FB-ing my every thought and having left my phone at home.)  I'll stick to writing about my trips and leave the picture-taking to others.  (Mike got some shots that hopefully I'll get soon and post.)

I'm not sure who cursed me or why... Being that I've been using my iPhone to take pictures in Hawaii, I must now be cautious not to refer to it as a camera or take it to other countries.

While my camera situation left me baffled and in denial for a day or two (I actually thought that some nice person seeing the pictures of our hotel would bring it to the front desk), I had an amazing trip.  I loved the people, the sites, the food, the hotels... and hanging out with my best friend whom I haven't seen in two years was pretty cool too.  So Ha Ha, Camera Gods, I'm gonna remember this trip despite your best efforts!  Nikki wins.  Flawless victory.