vampires

there is someone undeserving of my attention sucking the life out of me









and tomorrow i will hang out with gwen

well there is nothing for me here at the moment so very soon my next 2 years may be decided



http://www.peacecorps.gov/


i mean, what did you expect?

i really hope you'll watch this when you have time

it sort of hits close to home... its where my family lives, what i grew up seeing around me. although my family wasn't living off welfare/in poverty, how eye opening is it to see this and know you probably have food waiting on you somewhere, you have a nice bed to sleep in, access to good education...

people grasping onto their faith so hard its all they know how to do, its all there IS to do.

i always write & talk about my experiences with people from all around the world (bhutanese girl-talk was had just this week!) , but really, this is the reason why i do what i do. i feel unable to actively help because... it's weird, i just feel its too personal, too raw (right now)... but yes, poverty does exist in america just like it does in the slums of nairobi and yangon!

certainly
it doesnt feel okay without this

The Rock Cries Out to Us Today

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers--
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours--your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
Into your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning

hawa changed my life.





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kinda hit rock bottom for a second.
miss refugee work, miss joe, trying to get closer to family, looking for a job after this year, wanting to be positive and make the right decisions (and goodness, this crazy beautiful time for our country)... theres so much more, i couldnt even begin to explain...

im gonna take care of myself for a while
maybe start seeking some counseling so i can break down my thoughts better
maybe join a yoga class
maybe start really really planning&networking for africa

i gotta be selfish for a little bit


okok
forget the maybes
I HAVE TO DO

theres a lot of love around me.


thank you

exhausted


today im forcing myself to lay in bed
all day
watch movies
doze off when i doze off
wake up when i wake up
let my body do the talking


how lucky am i to have people around who really love me
i always think about how happy i am that my joe and my girls are so down and so real
but i need to remember they are what fuels my energy
and they know me
they know what i need...


i need to rest.

it sounds silly
but i put my burmese wrap over my window
and for some reason
i feel this wonderful sense of protection and warmth

its all around me
i am so lucky.