strawberryface

a little bit in love.

2011-08-31T09:31:00.001+02:00

a fragrant delivery

i know. of late it seems that my blog is becoming a showcase space for the exquisite work of the stunningly talented shirin sahba. i just can't help it. sigh...this one took my breath away, quite literally. goregously pink and filled with joyful abandon! what's not to love?

on sailing. and faith.

2011-08-26T09:19:00.002+02:00

image courtesy of shirin sahba

... faith is the wind in the sail of our dreams. it gives us the strength to go on, not succombing to doubt, fear or hopelessness. as we move forward, we are guided to the right path without having to make it happen ...

(the virtues project)

strawberry cheeks.

2011-07-02T15:24:00.000+02:00

today the real strawberryface turns three!

happy birthday, sweetest inspiration!

love, lollies and sisters.

2011-07-02T00:05:00.000+02:00

this is one of my most favourite photographs in the world.

it makes me smile. every single time.

i love the pure joy we are both expressing.

the bare feet of childhood.

the red plastic cups our mom would give us,

so that our ice lollies wouldn't drip all over the floor.

i am completely and utterly content.

sitting in the lap of my big sister.

there is no where else i would have rather been.

happy birthday, sweet sister o' mine!

good night, sweet city.

2011-06-24T22:21:00.000+02:00

photo stolen from danny stevenson's phone

sleep. goldfish. and my dad.

2011-06-18T23:04:00.000+02:00

when i was a child, i did not like to sleep. i have vivid memories of climbing out of bed, my pillow tucked firmly under my arm, walking barefoot across the long corridoor to the living room, many many times in a single night. as the story goes, one night, when i was about four, having gotten out of bed for about the hundredth time, and having run out of any kind of remotely valid sounding excuses (i'm too hot, i'm thirsty, the room is too dark), i triumphantly announced to my weary-eyed parents that i could not sleep because 'the goldfish is swimming in the bowl'. yes, my big sister's goldfish, who apparently thought he was minding his own business in his own little world, was in fact quite clearly keeping me awake and had to be removed. immediately.

truth be told, there were two reasons why i did not like to sleep. 1. i was convinced that while i was asleep the rest of my family was partying without me, and 2. i was afraid. there were two things i was afraid of. 1. that i would die in my sleep, and 2. hyenas.

yes, hyenas.

you have to understand that growing up in malawi, the howling of hyenas was a common sound at night. i had no idea what a hyena looked like, but my over-active four year old imagination had conjured up a fantastic cross between E.T. and a small rabid dinasaour. fantastic. and utterly terrifying.

enter my dad.

this is one of my favourite photos of him and i. although i am too young to talk, i love that he looks like he is intently listening, with complete and utter seriousness, to every word i am saying.

and with regards to my fears of 1. dying before morning came, and 2. hyenas somehow getting through my bedroom windows, he did exactly the same to my four year old self: listen. 1. he promised me that i would live until i was at least a hundred years old, and then 2. proceeded to tuck me in bed tightly with the mosquito net as my haven and an entire army of every doll and toy i every owned arrayed around the circumference of my bed as my own personal bodyguards against the hyenas. every single night. and thus my four year old self was able to sleep at night. blissfully.

its been many years since the thought of my mortality has kept me up at night. and i've also learned along the way that hyenas are just rather sad looking dogs who are more afraid of me than i am of them. nonetheless, with my adult self there are always other fears that come and go. and with my adult self, as with my four year old self, my dad is always there to listen, intently and seriously, even if it is to my still rather over-active imagination. and although i am too old for my army of dolls, his love, words, constant encouragement and example of courage have become my shield and a source of my strength.

of course, i do still believe that i will live until i am a hundred. and will keep him to his word.

meeting mrs amos.

2011-06-08T19:27:00.001+02:00

a few days ago, on my way to town, i walked past an elderly lady sitting outside her front door in the sunshine. i smiled at her. she smiled back. and i continued on my way. a few hours later, on my way home, i passed her again. a few hundred metres past her home, i stopped, stood there, had a 30 second debate with myself, and walked back. as i approached her and hesitantly asked if i could talk to her and perhaps take her photo, her face beamed in an open smile.

her name is sabina amos.

she was born in 1920, and although she cannot remember the names of her many great grandchildren, with great excitement she tells me that on the 10th of june she will turn 91 years old.

holding tightly to my arm, she animatedly tells me about her five children, all who were born in the house behind her. about her husband, who died in 1971 - i never married again! she tells me with a clear sense of pride. and of her eyesight, that is slowly failing - i can only see the big letters now. it is difficult to read my hymn book.

what advice can you give me, i ask her. (is this impertinent? i wonder, and then dismiss it with the recognition that this woman has lived a wealth of lifetimes before me). she thinks deeply and laughs a little.

pray, she tells me. every morning and every evening. then you will always be guided.

i take a few photos of her in the sunlight and show them to her.

ahh, i am old, she tells me. when i was young i was very pretty.

you are beautiful, i tell her. and i mean it.

are you happy with the way your life has unfolded, i ask her, a little bashfully.

very happy, she says.

as i turn to leave, she catches hold of my arm again and smiles.

i am happy. very very happy, she says.

i smile, wave, and continue walking down the street, the sun on my face, my day a little brighter.

cookie monster.

2011-06-05T16:09:00.000+02:00

so, last night we decided to have a bit of a cookie extravaganza.

we made approximately one million star shaped cookies.

of which there were approximately three left this morning.

because, well, quite obviously, star shaped cookies taste much better than ordinary shaped cookies.

and while my sweet sis was left with stars in her eyes,

we decided that my brother (in law - just so that we are clear that he's my brother, not hers....okay, never mind) looks like the real-life version of the little prince.

my job, of course, was to eat the 999,997 cookies.

house number 8870.

2011-05-31T14:20:00.000+02:00

we sit on upturned buckets, huddled together in a small circle in the corner of the dimly lit room. the young boy next to me draws his shorts-clad legs towards himself in an attempt to preserve some body heat. but his eyes remain intensly focused on the book in his lap, his face bright and intense, oblivious to the cold that penetrates through the thin walls. i pause, looking up from my book, to ask: so why do you think would it be important to be truthful ourselves if we are teaching children the virtue of truthfulness? he looks at me intently, the answer clear and obvious, and without any hesitation says: because truthfulness is the foundation of all human virtues.

this is linda. he is fourteen years old. and he is my hero.

i don't say these words lightly.

we are sitting in a tiny, almost entirely unfurnished one-roomed house, identical to all the other one roomed grey-brick houses that sit side by side in this sprawled township, each differentiated from the other only by a number printed on the wall facing the dirt road. each room houses a family. linda chose to move here nearly six months ago, away from his home and family, to live with some relatives. he came here because as a member of the baha'i faith he wanted to be of service to a community where there were no other bahai's. seeing that there were no spiritual and moral education classes for children in his new community, he decided to set up a class similar to one he himself was a participant of in his home town.

over 30 children gather almost every single day to attend linda's classes. they learn about spiritual virtues, like kindness and patience, truthfulness, joy and justice. they hear stories, draw pictures and learn prayers together. they sing songs. at the top of their lungs.

quiet and unassuming in his manner, i wonder if linda himself is truly aware of the magnitude of what he is doing.

driving back to the mother city, my heart feels like it is about to explode. with love, respect and a sense of awe for this spiritual warrior.

a true hero. in every way.

love. mountains. and taxis.

2011-05-13T23:50:00.000+02:00

the sky is still streaked with first light as i step out onto mainroad.

"GIRLFRIEND!" the shout is distinct. "HEY, GIRLFRIEND! MACIE! CAPE TOWN?" he is yelling from the other side of the road, half of his body dangerously tottering out of the open window of the minibus. the music blares, the bass booming across the quiet street. i smile, despite myself, and give an imperceptible nod. he grins widely and jumps out, stopping the few cars between us so that i can cross easily. "anything for you, my lady". with a wink he turns his back to me and yells out to the next approaching woman, "GIRLFRIEND! HEY, GIRLFRIEND! TAXI?"

and so another morning begins.

contrary to rumors, i have not fallen off the edge of the world and into oblivion.

the edge of the world is, however, quite beautiful. and incredibly windy.

but i have been living life. in the abundance of people i love. face to face. and it makes me ridiculously happy.

i always fall a little deeper in love with this city. just a little bit. and my heart always breaks in this city. just a little bit.

i am more home than i ever have been. and yet...it doesn't mean what i thought it would.

i look into the faces of so many of the young women that i teach. some eyes still bright with the invincibilty and sweet arrogance of childhood, others already weary with the heaviness no child should ever know. and yet, so many, too many, do know. bonnie's face is drawn, her eyes tired despite the coolness of the morning. she wakes up when it is still dark, and when it will continue to be dark for many hours still, so that she can arrive here on time. she looks directly and unflinchingly at me. "i am creative" she tells me with a slight defiance, lest i should, for even a moment, doubt her. "i know i am creative. its just difficult to put what i feel into words. onto paper". we talk about fear, about letting go of fear, letting go of all those voices in our heads that tell us we can't. because we can. she can. tell her stories, speak her truths. she smiles at me softly with an understanding older than both of us. and i know, i know how much courage she already has, just by being here.

if the sun is still shining when i leave, i skip the taxi ride and walk home instead. the mountain, always my point of reference.

the mountain. i know jobergers make fun of the captonian obsession with the mountain. but we can't help it. it is immense. it holds us. grounds us. and it keeps us looking up towards the sky. and besides, if you know where the mountain is, you always know where you are.

***

and yes, strawberries do grow in cape town. but patience is needed. they are a somewhat temperamental fruit and tend to take their time.

eleven.

2011-05-13T23:41:00.000+02:00

from my favorite album this year.

hello. goodbye. and do you like my hat?

2011-04-04T12:21:00.004+02:00

as i write this, i am sitting on my suitcase, desperately trying to jam it shut. okay, the 'as i write this' part isn't entirely true ... but you get the idea. another suitcase, another airport, a last minute desperate search for my passport, trying to squish shoes, books and an unbelievable amount of parmesan cheese into my bags. and all the while my teenage alanis morissette singing (yelling?) self is asking, with genuine concern: seriously, you own THIS much PINK clothing?!

for someone who grew up in a world of two seasons (dry or wet but always HOT), winter is always an endless blur of cold dark days. the change of seasons always takes me by suprise and yesterday morning, when i went for a run, i was delightfully distracted to see this gorgeous sprinkling of spring.

and when i saw that this place was open again, i think i may have actually done a little dance of joy.

then the question was: run, or eat frozen yoghurt?

who am i kidding. i mean, is that even a question? and besides, (frozen) yoghurt is healthy. and running is totally overrated.

the fact that the sun has begun to shine again, and feeling the warmth on my face, makes me incredibly grateful for an entire childhood of summer days filled with flipflops and t-shirts.

that being said, its somewhat ironic that just as i feel like my frozen self is begining to thaw and i am actually becoming a rather nice human being to be around (if i may say so myself), i am heading to the southern hemisphere, and, lo and behold, my sweet old friend winter is coming right along with me.

but ... i am going to be in one of my favourite places in the world. and i will be with some of my favourite people in the world.

so ... hello. goodbye. and do you like my hat?

in violet hours.

2011-03-18T09:28:00.000+01:00

perhaps its the fact that i seem to be awake so much in the half-lit hours. or maybe its the sudden awareness of the hours that fill an illuminated day. or the constant reminder of luminosity in the words that i read when the world is still dark.

i feel like i have spent the last few weeks wandering in tse's 'violet hours'...the 'magic hours', the space between utter darkness and complete illumination. a space that leaves me awake, restless and strangely vulnerable.

when i was a child, every year at this time we would lay seeds of wheat or barley across a small bed of cotton and wait and watch for the seeds to come to life, to sprout and grow. the anticipation of spring. for the first time in many years i find myself home again during these days and i watch my mother sprinkle those seeds. i watch with a cynicism that aches.

but as the days pass those tiny seeds begin to sprout and i find myself strangely transfixed by these little spurts of life that stubbornly refuse to be subdued by my indifference. they grow upwards and straight. defiant. and my heart exults somewhat as they, with a gentle ease, turn themselves towards the light.

always towards the light.

lemons. and love.

2011-02-27T22:09:00.000+01:00

i recently came across the paintings of shahrzad maydani. they are exquisite. there is a mixture of beauty and defiance, of pain and humor, all subtly expressed in a single image. when you read about the process of her lemon paintings, you can't help but be inspired by her authenticity - as well as her talent. i keep going back to her website, trying to decide which one is my favorite ... i think they all are!

what lemons?

the lemon farmer's daughter

the tea party

ci vediamo, milano.

2011-02-24T23:07:00.009+01:00

falling in love with you was easier than i ever imagined. and saying goodbye is just a little harder than i thought. grazie for the abundance of glitter, grit, coffee and gelato, unexpectedly sweet friendships and more boots than any girl should ever own.

som.no.lence.

2011-01-25T02:06:00.000+01:00

there are 58 lines of shutter light on my ceiling. i counted. don’t even try to understand what this means. at this point, i am not even sure what it means. i am awake. and i should be asleep. every cell in my body is silently begging me to be asleep. but i just can’t. sleep. i google insomnia. the following are suggested to me:

don’t think. (yes, thank you very much oh wise internet for THAT suggestion.)
count slowly backwards. (like i can even count slowly forwards.)
go and take a walk. (its minus degrees outside. any other bright ideas?)
avoid naps. (seriously? if i could nap i would be asleep!)
smoke yourself to sleep. (at this point i am envisioning setting my bed on fire.)
think of green cows. (yes, this really is a suggestion. apparently thinking of animals in their ‘wrong’ colour will magically assist me to sleep. i am so desperate i actually tried this. but then what a normal cow actually looks like in real life (let alone a green one) started to get complicated in my head. this, of course, led me to google 'green cows'. there are a surprisingly large number of green cows on the internet.)

and finally:

if you can’t sleep, get up.

i am up.

looking up.

2011-01-21T22:46:00.001+01:00

i spent the afternoon today in a planetarium. i've never done this before. it was magical. dizzyingly spectacular (your chair could actually spin 360 degrees to get the full effect) and incredibly humbling. there is nothing quite like the expanse of universe to remind you of how small you are. how very very small. it also made me realise that it has been a very long time since i have looked up into the sky at night. as i was sitting there i was reminded of one of my favourite quotes, attributed to the Imam 'Ali:

"dost thou think thyself only a puny form,
when the universe is folded up within thee?"

i need to look up more.

sweet delight.

2011-01-02T18:20:00.004+01:00

i've been going through my photos of last summer and came across this one. i think its one of my favorites. there is something sweetly magical about it. i love how the light softly halos her hair and the expression on her

face as she gets ready to spin in circles.

little miss greedy.

2011-01-02T14:00:00.000+01:00

i am aware that many of my recent posts seem to be (okay, they are) about cake. just so you know, i write about cake much more than i actually eat it. honestly. the thing is...i do have a slight tendency to sometimes exaggerate. just a little. sometimes.

just thought i would set the record straight.

1.1.11

2011-01-01T21:48:00.002+01:00

photo courtesy of caro's lines

i haven't moved out of my bed for the last 48 hours and i'm surrounded by a mountain of tissue. and not the wrapping kind. this flu thing is seriously no joke. so yeah...not the greatest way to say goodbye to twenty ten and start the new year. but, i have had some kind of compulsive desire to have a 1.1.11 post...so here goes. take note that i have had a raging fever, so you can blame any senseless ramblings on that.

i'm not the kind to make new year's resolutions. i'm more likely to make a list of things i've already done so that i can guarantee that they can all be crossed off and i can smile happily about it. but lying here, staring at the ceiling for countless hours, i felt inspired to make a list. okay, not really inspired...but, did i tell you already that i have a fever?

1. eat more cake. (yes, i know this is one that i've already done, but who said that my resolutions had to be new?)
2. spend more time looking at the sky.
3. be a better person and do better things.
4. sing more. outside the shower.
5. did i already say eat more cake? i have a fever you know.
6. be grateful. and find more ways to express it.
7. and learn to accept things. including gifts. yes, that was part of number 6. but i don't really have a very long list.
8. love more. judge less.
9. listen.
10. i don't have a number ten. so it will have to be eat more cake.

yes. that was the extent of my inspiration.

wherever you are, i hope that this year brings you much joy and sweetnesses of all kinds - not only the cake kind.

dear prudence.

2010-12-16T02:30:00.001+01:00

i spent most of the day today eating cake. at the time it seemed like a really good idea.
i am officially the world's worst vegetarian. is it possible to be half vegetarian?
the metro is totally overrated. whatever romantic blah blah blah i had written previously about how amazing the metro is, well i take it back. every single word. every evening when i stand perfectly cramped in a corner of the train, a metal railing poking into my back, someone's foot stubbornly on mine, an elbow digging insistently into my side, the inevitable armpit i fit under, oh and lest we forget the the awkward do-not-make-eye-contact-with-the-stranger-who-is-standing-about-half-an-inch-from-my-face-rule (and my giggling every few seconds at the absurdity of it all i am sure does not help), all i want to do is yell the line from 'the police': DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME!
but, the other song thats been on repeat on my ipod is this one. because even though its freezing, and i am not a winter person, and.will.never.ever.be (just in case there was any doubt), the sun is up, which of course = immediate happiness, the sky is blue...and despite all my complaining, and the fact that it's so cold i can't actually feel my face, it truly is beautiful.

5-7-5 (sometimes)

2010-12-07T20:49:00.001+01:00

i've never been one to go with the whole 'less is more' thing. as far as i am concerned, less is less and more is, well, umm hello, MORE? hence perhaps my disastrous attempt at tweeting. (you really want me to express myself in 140 characters? does that include the spaces between the words? and what about punctuation? is that 140 already?) basically, if i have something that i need to say, i will use all the words i want. ALL. and, perhaps, more. if i feel like it. no squished together sentences and chopped up words that are crammed2getha2savespace. except...well, except when it comes to poetry. because sometimes less is, ahem, more. i've always loved teaching haiku. along with the intense concentration and focused counting-syllables-on-fingers that suddenly takes over the room, there is something quite brilliant about speaking (or writing) by not speaking (or writing).

so, because i am desperately in need of inspiration, and nothing that i have written recently is inspiring me in any way whatsoever, i am sharing with you a few of my favourite haikus (and sort-of-haikus – just don't count the syllables) from some of the well-known brilliants (yes, i am using the word as a noun) as well as some of the less-well-known brilliants. ooh, and if you have an inspiring haiku, or even not-a-haiku but just-a-poem, hey it can even be a not-a-poem but just-a-paragraph, or even a couple of words, that you want share, and it doesn't have to be all that inspiring (look, basically you can just say hi) send it my way! i need to be inspired. please.

no earth

no sky - but still

snowflakes fall

hashin

it only takes a phonecall

to trip up my groove

just when i thought i could dance

ruth forman

for sale

baby shoes

never worn

e. hemmingway (yes, i know...its not technically a haiku, but i did tell you not to count. it is regarded as the shortest short story. and it is beautiful.)

i care not greatly

should the world remember me

in some tomorrow

ee cummings

a breeze sways the rose

the butterfly resting there

is still. drunk again?

roger white

i start to wonder:
why is everyone so awkward?
or is it just me?
millipede jr.

pink exquisite.

2010-12-07T15:13:00.003+01:00

the girl who tamed the zebra

i am a little in love with this painting, as i am with most of the work of the exquisitely talented shirin sahba. when i saw that it was already sold, my heart sank just a teeny bit. sigh. but...one day, for sure, i will have one of these on my walls (i need to get some walls first) and fill my home with pink exquisite-ness!

a little blue.

2010-10-14T23:16:00.001+02:00

photo - mona anvary foroughi

her name is azzurra. it means sky blue. she is the kind of child that can't sit still. she is too young for this class and her eyes watch wide. today she insists on spinning herself in circles across the room, giggling breathlessly. i take her by the arm, a little too roughly, levelling myself to her height, and reprimand her.

"azzurra, you are not a child."

before the words even hit the space between us there are a thousand voices shouting at me inside my head. the light in her eyes dims a little and she stares at me with a curious sense of detachment.

something in my heart quietly breaks.

the truth is, she is a child. and she is doing exactly what a child is supposed to be doing. spinning giddily and laughing as the world floats by.

when did i forget this?

this has been a hard week.

pink season.

2010-10-13T23:34:00.000+02:00

photo courtesy of the brilliant mona anvary foroughi

parp.

2010-10-13T22:01:00.002+02:00

its possible that i am so tired that everything is just brilliantly funny right now. but this just made me laugh so hard i cried. make sure you read to the end.

learning. and unlearning.

2010-10-07T22:05:00.001+02:00

i love this picture. it was taken by alfred eisenstaedt in 1963. it is at a parisienne puppet show, capturing the very moment that st george is slain by the dragon. the expressions on the faces of these children are just brilliant. (look at the little girl second from the right. every time i look at her i have to smile.) i seem to be spending much of my time these days in the company of little people, much like these. the full range of pure, spontaneous and uninhibited emotions that are expressed on a daily basis never cease to amaze me. nothing is hidden. there is no pretending. whatever is felt is written all over their faces. they are what they feel. and it shows. completely. how else is there to be? every so often i feel a small hand shyly slip into my hand. an anxious tug on my pants. a furrowed brow followed by a very solemn: 'is 3 a capital letter?' sometimes they just reach out to touch me, a sort of reassurance to themselves that i am still there. which means that they must be there too. i forget how as adults how much we take for granted and how much we actually have had to learn in our lives to get us where we are now. but spending time with these people makes me want to unlearn a lot of that learning...and get back to being able to feel and express pure emotions - joy, fear, excitement - so fully and openly as we experience them. because honestly, how else is there to be?

things as they are.

2010-10-06T22:05:00.000+02:00

the other morning i woke up laughing. i have been so exhausted at night that i cannot remember what i dream about anymore. but based on my laughter, this one must have been pretty good. remember this post? seriously? what was i thinking? was i actually complaining about the quiet spaces? at the moment, my only stillness occurs when i am asleep. and even that, clearly, is not too quiet a space. but...life is happening. and when i do have those rare still moments, in the brief hours between darkness and light when the world slows down just a little, i am grateful. because although my blog is on some kind of hiatus, i am not.

pacemaker.

2010-09-13T21:09:00.000+02:00

although i cannot remember, i know that the first sound i ever heard was the beating of this woman's heart. like her heartbeat, she is the embodiment of strength, constancy, joy, courage, patience and love.

she has set the pace for my life.

grazie, mama.

the facts. (and the pasticceria.)

2010-09-11T11:38:00.000+02:00

a triple espresso is the best (and probably the worst) way to start the day.
i officially know how to read a map.
even with a map, my ability to get completely and utterly lost is 100% intact.
i fell in love this week. 23 times. i always forget how much i love my job.
people-watching in the metro will always be way cooler than watching TV.
there is a stop on the tube called gioia. every time i pass it i smile. one day i will have to get off there and take a look.
life, with music in the background, is just a happier place all around.
i live across the street from a pasticceria. a PASTICCERIA!
i look local. more people have asked me for directions here than anywhere else i have lived. its also possible that, like me, more people get lost here than anywhere else i have lived.
i am finally learning to speak italian in the past tense. maybe eventually one day i will get to the future.
it is still officially summer. riding the train with all the windows down proves this. and this makes me a super happy person.
umm...did i mention the pasticceria?

flutter.

2010-08-30T20:23:00.003+02:00

footnotes.

2010-08-23T15:49:00.013+02:00

the tiny-print comments at the bottom of the page i usually choose to ignore. i think my brain automatically goes into shut-down mode when its forced to concentrate on very small sized writing. its like someone is whispering incredibly quietly and i desperately need to strain my ears to understand. whilst the whole time i want to yell, JUST SPEAK LOUDER! and besides, if it was that important, why isn't it in the main text? its the same when a book has too many words on the page. its just impossible to read. i know that sounds ridiculous. but to be able to read easily, there needs to be space. on the page. and in my brain. yes, i am aware that i am sounding like i have way too much space in my brain.

so, recently i have been reading. history. iran. mid 1800's. for someone like me who prefers to indulge in the world of make-believe, it takes some effort to wrap my mind around the fact that what i am reading is actually reality. it may as well be fiction: the quest for truth, arduous journeys made across deserts, sword fights, battles, forts and sieges, love, betrayal, and the ultimate sacrifice, life.

and (yes, i am getting to my point, finally), there are hundreds of main protagonists we come across in the course of the book.

and two of them are women. two.

my feminist self immediately objects and is a little (read: A LOT) opinionated on this absence of women on the page. but i shall restrain the urge to stand on my soap box and give you a gender 101 lecture, and recognise, that despite this unforgivable slight, this history, as most other not-so-recent history, is written by a man. about other men. and most likely, at the time, to be read by, yes, more men.

there is no space for women in the main text.

enter the footnotes. words so often recounted to me by my older sister, reminding me to look beyond just what i thought i could see. to look beyond the text. to look for what was not written.

and this is what i find: (and YES, i know that you are tempted to skip over them. don't. not this time.)

[1] A town historic for its burial-place of over two hundred martyr's heads. These were brought there, via Shiraz, carried aloft on bayonets, and accompanied mainly by the female next of kin who were forced to walk some of the way from the town of Nayriz (over two hundred miles).

read that again. (please.) slowly. these womenfolk, the next of kin to these two hundred men who were killed for their faith, were forced to walk. nearly two hundred miles. alongside the severed heads of their fathers, husbands, brothers and sons.

and then this:

[2] Their persecutors, having captured and killed the men, seized and slew forty women and children in the following manner: They placed them in the midst of a cave, heaped up in the cave a vast quantity of firewood, poured naphtha over the faggots strewn around, set fire to it. One of those who took part in this deed related as follows: 'After two or three days I ascended that mountain and removed the door from the cave. I saw that the fire had sunk down into the ashes; but all those women with their children were seated, each in some corner, clasping their little ones to their bosoms, and sitting round in a circle, just as they were when we left them. Some as though in despair or in mourning, had suffered their heads to sink down on their knees in grief, and all retained the postures they had assumed. I was filled with amazement, thinking that the fire had not burned them. Full of apprehension and awe, I entered. Then I saw that all were burned and charred to a cinder, yet had they never made a movement which would cause the crumbling away of the bodies. As soon as I touched them with my hand, however, they crumbled away to ashes. And all of us, when we had seen this, repented what we had done. But of what avail was this?'

who were these women whose names were never written down? the mothers, sisters, daughters, wives of the heroes of our his-stories. the ones that stayed behind. the ones that picked up after the battle was done and made sure that life went on. despite their broken lives. and hearts. what did they think? what did they dream? what did they say? what were their names?

footnotes.

foot. feet. what we stand on. what holds us up. keeps us grounded.
women.
only noteworthy?

bright lights.

2010-08-18T22:14:00.003+02:00

on the first of september i am moving city. again. this is city number 13 on my list of cities i have lived in. contrary to superstition, in italy 13 is considered a lucky number. (okay, so thats not exactly true. but it could be.) if you don't know me very well your response to this latest move has generally been a "wow, are you into fashion?" if you do know me (and my happy yet somewhat impractical desire to spend my life in my pajamas), i have received the raised-eyebrow-look with an incredulous "you? moving there?", followed by (because anyone who has spent more than a few days with me knows how huge a part the sun plays in my general nice-to-be-around-ness factor) "the weather is terrible there". but, i have decided that this is going to be the city-of-all-things-utterly-amazing. afterall, with doors like this, how could it not be?

big iguana.

2010-08-13T00:48:00.002+02:00

dear big iguana,

this post is for you.

in this picture you are nearly seven years old and i must be almost one. for most of my childhood i was convinced that when i grew up i was going to be a princess. and that i would marry you. i had to settle for just becoming a princess. i remember taking every word that came out of your mouth as being the gospel-truth - including all the tales about the man in the moon and the fact that you had the power to transform me into a frog with the wendy-house-plastic-stick-wand-thing that had silver foil sellotaped to the end of it.

and when you left for boarding school when i was five, i thought my heart would break. you wrote me a letter nearly every single week. for seven years. the weekends you would come home were a novelty - filled with karate stunts and banana and jam sandwiches. and, of course, wham. because this was the eighties and we were cool.

and when you grew up and married your wife (who is, incidently, one of my favourite people in the world) and moved away, you always looked back, just to make sure that i was okay.

you have always made sure that i am okay.

you have always listened to me, not just as your little sister, but as your equal. you giggle hysterically with me during very important and serious moments. and yet you have never laughed at one of my unbelievably-rare-and-fatal-ailments-that-only-someone-like-me-could-find-on-the-internet (and then be convinced that i have). you have always listened, patiently, and then reassured me that i. am. not. in. fact. dying. i should be embarrassed were it not for the fact that we do share the same genes - proven by our once very insane yet dead-serious competition to measure the diameters of our heads to see who actually had a bigger head. i won, of course. you have been my partner in crime (who else could have helped corrupt our sweet little sister by teaching her how to smoke), and you have always listened to my many mad tales without judgement (yes, running off to some spanish island with a guy i have only known for a week is a possibility - if that is what i really want). you have also explained to me how taxes work. many many times.

the truth is, you have always believed in me. even when i haven't believed in my self. and you have always believed in my dreams. as impossible as they sometimes might seem. a few months ago your six year old son solemnly declared to me how much he wished he could marry his little sister. but...(he said with a sigh), he knew that he couldn't. i had to smile. and tell him that although that possibility was out, he still could persue the dream of becoming a pirate/swordfighter. i also knew that his little sister is one of the luckiest girls in the world.

happy birthday. and thank you. with all my heart.

singing in kilkenny.

2010-08-09T16:25:00.001+02:00

i've smiled so much this week my face hurts. i'm also severely sleep deprived. caffeine seems to have substituted my oxygen supply. and i have had enough sugar to put a small elephant in a glucose-induced coma. oh yes, i also joined a choir. ehhhmm....yes. the thing is, i have learned that if you want me to do - well, pretty much anything - all you have to do is ask. with an irish accent - obviously. chances are, i will smile at you rather giddily and nod my head in cheerful abandon. even when it comes to things like singing. in public. and so, i got to sing at the top of my lungs every night for the last seven days. much, no doubt, to the despair of the choir-master-conductor-person. (choir ruler?) and, the truth is, i loved it. every second of it. even the hannah montana song. i have been completely blown away by the brilliance and beauty of the music of so many of the people i encountered during the last few days. at times i felt that my heart would just explode. i have also decided to start thinking my thoughts with an irish accent. because, frankly, its just so much cooler.

summer storm.

2010-07-29T13:47:00.002+02:00

one of my favourite childhood memories is of my aunt driving me out to the ocean front in the middle of a storm. just to watch. i remember the thrilling sense of glee mixed with a slight sense of fear. i love that the sky smells like the sea and that everything tastes of salt. i love that you can't tell where the sky ends and the ocean begins. this morning when i woke up to a bruised and thunderous sky, i had to go out and see for myself. i was not disappointed.

skype love.

2010-07-27T20:22:00.002+02:00

the memo.

2010-07-27T20:22:00.001+02:00

regarding speedos, was not received here in italy.

and no i am not posting any pictures.

tuesday afternoon.

2010-07-27T20:22:00.000+02:00

mi.lan.o

2010-07-18T00:37:00.002+02:00

things that i learned today.

milano centrale is actually an unofficial catwalk. waiting for my train home was like waiting on the sidelines of a fashion shoot.
models are very tall people. i am not a very tall person. at all.
walking your dog whilst wearing an armani suit is, in fact, normal. (okay, so i don't actually know what an armani suit looks like, but he was wearing a super shi-shi suit and walking a dog, people!)
you can buy prada underwear. seriously. prada makes underwear. i don't know why this fact has stuck in my head and seems to have completely eluded me, but there you go.
i know nothing about fashion. clearly.
the duomo is the perfect place to sit in when it when it is 34 degrees celsius outside.
nowehere is actually that perfect to sit in when it is 34 degrees celsius outside. even the duomo.
no one from milan is actually from milan.

spaghetti.

2010-07-18T00:35:00.003+02:00

remember this little person from the photo booth?

saying goodbye.

2010-07-14T13:27:00.000+02:00

as they left haifa harbor they strained their eyes for a last view …

and thought of all the love which had enveloped them in that place.

marzieh gail, arches of the years

little frog is a flower.

2010-07-12T18:14:00.000+02:00

if the first few days of his life are in any way indicative of his future, the little frog could easily pursue a career in modeling. we have taken hundreds (i kid you not) of photos of him. and he is, without a doubt, gorgeous. there is something that is just magical about him. i also love the fact that my point and shoot identifies him as being a flower. (see the top left corner of the lcd screen.) and yes...i know that the camera is automatically picking up on tiny details and hence the flower...but indulge me a little!

lovestruck.

2010-07-11T19:23:00.000+02:00

so we have all been having a bit of a lovefest over here. it's impossible to not be completely enamored with this little guy. he is such a squishy little frog. seriously, look at these tiny toes!

blossom.

2010-07-08T21:21:00.000+02:00

about a boy.

2010-07-06T22:39:00.000+02:00

he is finally here!
and he is absolutely perfect.
10 tiny perfect fingers.
and 10 tiny perfect toes.
a delicious squishy little face.
(i am so in love.)
and oh so incredibly proud of my beautiful big sister.
welcome to the world little guy!

little feet.

2010-06-29T20:01:00.000+02:00

waiting.

2010-06-23T14:24:00.002+02:00

with my sisters and my mother

waiting

with so much love

for the arrival of a brand new soul.

khamsīn.

2010-06-23T11:18:00.000+02:00

arabic: خمسين khamsīn, "fifty": refers to a dry, hot and dusty local wind blowing in north africa and the arabian peninsula. ...it is believed to blow at intervals for about fifty days.

(en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khamsin)

note: a desert storm sounds romantic. it is not. at all.

a prayer. and a party.

2010-06-20T17:35:00.001+02:00

overheard in bahji today. a four year old having a conversation with god out loud.

o god, guide me, protect me... (long pause)
and please protect my daddy.
and my mummy.
and let us all live happily ever after.
and also, please let us have a party.
(pause)
promise?
(pause)
okay!!

my tree.

2010-06-20T17:34:00.000+02:00

po bavakasha.

2010-06-19T22:30:00.000+02:00

i'm home!

laundry. and london.

2010-06-15T23:22:00.001+02:00

banksy

i have a few hours of transit space. enough time to do my laundry. i had planned to write an entire post on london-town. but it will have to be distilled to a one liner.

i love london.

yes, it's gritty and grimy. overcrowded. and loud. and yes, i seem to spend more hours underground than in the sun when i am there. i also happen to be the perfect height to fit under your (or anyone else's) armpit when standing in the tube at rush hour. delightful, i know. but, while standing in the tube, breathing in all that recycled air...i am struck by my own curiosity. about everyone. and everything. i don't mean to stare, but i can't help it either. its not the nosy-parker, inquisitive kind of curiosity (okay, maybe it is, a little) but rather, london makes me happy. curiously happy. london is the one town where i don't bother keeping a book in my bag. because its just so much more fun just being. watching. living. breathing. someone pointed out to me the other day that my self-proclaimed love affairs with various cities are really not about the cities themselves, but more about the people that i love who live in those cities. it's true. these few days has been about people. people who fill me with abundance. joy. people who make me feel lighter. more grounded. grateful. london makes me excited to be alive.

hence, i love london.

umm...i guess this was a little more than one line.

26 letters.

2010-06-06T22:30:00.002+02:00

a word after a word after a word is power. m.atwood

it always amazes me that the english language has only 26 letters in its alphabet. (hah, i actually had to count that out on my fingers to be sure.) and yet, with these mere 26 letters, we create the words that we use for everything we say...or don't say. a word is a word is a word. but...a word after a word after a word is power. of course, the words we don't say are powerful too. sometimes more so.

recently i have been incredibly lucky to be able to work with some very talented writers. they all use those same 26 letters, and yet, every sentence they construct is uniquely different. every story they tell has its very own very specific set of words. i would love to give a group of writers the same few hundred words, and see what kinds of different stories they tell with those very same words. because i know that every single story would be extraordinary.

a couple of nights ago i received the beginnings of a new writer's manuscript. exquisite words - raw, authentic, luminous words. the kind that come alive and speak to you right off the page in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster and yet be stilled. reading brilliant writing is perhaps a little akin to falling in love. suddenly you can see so much further than you ever imagined you could. you begin to believe what you once thought was impossible. good writing makes you sleep less. but you are happy.

that being said, the absence of words is essential too. but there is a difference between not speaking because you don't have the words and being silent because you don't need the words.

of course, most of our words to each other nowadays are communicated via computer....emails...sms...blogs. i miss paper sometimes. real ink written words. words that smudge because you leaned your wrist a little too low on the table. words that are crossed out because you changed your mind, or thought of a better word. proof. of what i am not sure. maybe of actually being. nowadays it sometimes seems a little too easy to press delete. and just make everything disappear.

so...i am not sure where i am going with all of this. sort of nowhere. (what's new?) maybe i am wondering why, when there are so many words, it is sometimes so difficult to just say what i mean. or maybe i just want to receive a real letter in the mail. with a stamp on it. and ink smudges too. or maybe, despite all this, a part of me realises that at the end of the day, words are also merely just words...and, depending on your intention, less (for once) may actually be more... after all, sticks and stones...and all that.

maybe the most essential thing about words is knowing when to use them. and when...ahem, to stop.

thus. the. end.

counting sheep.

2010-06-04T05:38:00.004+02:00

you know you're in trouble when the birds start twittering.

oranges are not the only fruit.

2010-06-03T22:00:00.003+02:00

things that made me smile this week.

this huge box of strawberries. and no, i didn't eat them all...by myself.
sitting in the sun by the ocean. i live right next to the ocean, people!
driving all over town in second gear. because. i. am. just. not. in. a. hurry.
talking to both my sisters. being a middle child is so underrated.
buying my ticket to london town. (yay!)
persuading myself that frozen yoghurt has the same nutritional value as non-frozen yoghurt.
seeing a couple in their eighties - both with white shocks of hair and wearing the same designer sunglasses - sitting on a bench on the waterfront, quietly holding hands.
looking into my rearview mirror and realising that i have two cops on huge motorbikes right behind me. and then seeing the third one riding right in front of me. after concluding that all the possible illegal things that i have done in my life are not suffificent to warrant an arrest, i decide that i am, in fact, a secret VIP and am being escorted to my next destination. (the beach.)
the fact this season's fashion trend (don't roll your eyes at me) is all about tiny floral prints and soft pinks and greens. whoever you are in the fashion world that decides on matters like this, i love you. (last year everything was purple. disaster.)
recieving this message from my dad: '"I am standing in the rainforest at Vic Falls. Awesome."

100 cupcakes.

2010-05-30T22:11:00.000+02:00

just a thought. but it's a nice thought, isn't it.

standstill. and sitting still.

2010-05-28T22:04:00.005+02:00

"sometimes i can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives i am not living." -jsf

the truth is, i don't actually want to be living anyone else's life. but these days, i have been having a hard time sitting still in my own. life. the paradox is that everything feels like its at a standstill. which is not true. there is always movement. somehow. i know this. but...right now, i am just not feeling it. giddy, spinning, falling...even sea sick would be great. anything that indicates that something is moving. and when it feels like nothing is moving, the last thing that you want to do is to sit still. which is why perhaps my inbox is full of recently-bought tickets and i keep receiving emails asking, 'where are you?!' i haven't really sat still in one place since i arrived. maybe if i keep moving geographically this sense of motionlessness will magically disappear? i am not trying to be all deep and 'lets all analyse where i am at' - i promise - but, even writing has become difficult...because it simply requires me to SIT STILL.

i am reminded of tse's ash wednesday, where he writes:

because i know that time is always time
and place is always and only place
and what is actual is only actual for one time
and only for one place
i rejoice that things are as they are

(but the one line that always stood out to me was)

teach us to sit still.

sitting still. somehow i need to learn this one. to be sure that i am fully living my life instead of straining under the weight of those that i am not.

and rejoice that things are as they are.

the poppy.

2010-05-22T22:42:00.001+02:00

genève, merci beaucoup pour le temps magnifique.

2010-05-20T22:38:00.002+02:00

anikarenina

soft light, sweet curls.

2010-05-15T08:30:00.001+02:00

fever pitch.

2010-05-13T22:00:00.000+02:00

my family has always been a little football crazy. but only around the world cup. we move countries too often to get nationalistic, so our support is usually divided as follows: whoever looks like they might win = me, whoever looks like they are losing = my mama, the irish (did they ever actually play in a world cup?) = my dad, and my siblings usually support the team of their respective spouses. yes, we are a very united lot.

my first memory of a world cup was the final match in 1990 - argentina vs

west germany

. we lived in

malawi

then, where under the dictatorship TV was banned. so a huge screen had been set up in the german embassy. everyone who was supporting

germany

was sitting on one side of the room, yelling and cheering madly. my older brother was sitting on the other side of the room, waving the lone (and rather forlorn) argentinian flag patriotically (well, as patriotic as one can get in my family). during the 1998 world cup i remember making a "ronaldo" banner that hung in the living room all summer. incidentally, that was when another of my equally soccer-mad friends dreamed that i in fact married ronaldo....on his yacht. sigh.

perhaps this year its not so much the world cup that i am excited about as it is the fact that the world cup is happening in

SOUTH AFRICA

. when i arrived in joberg last month, the airport arrivals was set up like a football stadium so that when you walked through the gates, you were greeted by the 'spectators' in the stands. cape town was buzzing with countdown anticipation. friday is 'wear a soccer shirt to work' day. vuvuzelas are on sale all over the place. there is an energy and excitement sweeping throughout the nation. umm...can you tell that i wish i was there? of course…that is not to say that the world cup in SA hasn’t brought up a whole set of ethical, social and economic issues that are being contested throughout the country either…

nonetheless…

i have to admit that i have watched the following ad about a zillion times today. but its worth it.

ps. south africa seriously does have the best ads in the world.

grazie, mama.

2010-05-09T23:53:00.001+02:00

rome graffiti.

2010-05-09T00:56:00.003+02:00

manuel faisco

this is for my sister S. because i know she doesn't like reading the long posts ;)

lost in translation.

2010-05-09T00:45:00.002+02:00

at the moment, everything in my life is taking place in the present tense.

words words words. my head is buzzing with words. people here talk really fast. really fast. by the time i have understood, comprehended meaning, figured what i want to say, translated it in my head, the conversation has moved to another topic. it means that i generally don’t have a lot to say. about anything. i have to focus intensely in order to understand, and if i become distracted, even for a moment, everything is lost. the upside is that i can pretty much zone out of any conversation, anytime, any place, and still look like i am listening. okay…maybe that’s not such a great ‘up side’ to admit to…publicly.

i have rarely lived in a country where i could easily understand people’s conversations around me. i remember once standing in a queue at an airport and being stunned by the fact that everyone around me was speaking in english. at first i was thrilled that i could finally understand all these secret dialogues taking place. the novelty wore off before i even made it to the front of the queue. i felt as though i had a dozen people crowded in my head, all talking at once…and about nothing of much consequence. i realized that i actually prefer not knowing (for the most part) what people are talking about. of course, that doesn’t mean that i want to get lost in translation…hence my class.

my class is an eclectic mix of ‘foreigners’. none of us speak the same language, except for fragments of what we are trying to learn. it is strange to share a space of learning, of communication, with people you know nothing about and who you cannot speak to except with new words that you are learning. i am curious – about the young man who sits next to me who is from the philippines, about the vivacious woman with the headscarf who tells me she is from morocco, the intense blond from lithuania, the dark eyed peruvian. i want to know why they are all here. why we are all here together, trying to learn a language so that we can communicate – with each other. it is also strange for me to be on this side of the…desk? usually i am the one standing in front of the class, explaining words, correcting pronunciation. its good. humbling. i am learning. or perhaps more accurately, i am learning to learn.

of course, inevitably the first question asked is always “di dove vieni?” where are you from. the truth is, even if you ask me this question in english, chances are that i will stare at you blankly for a few seconds while i furiously try to decide what to tell you, where would make most sense at this very moment in time. when you ask me this in another language, my blank look is (understandably) taken as a total lack of comprehension. so the question is asked again, slower, louder (people always speak more loudly when they think you don’t understand). this time round, i opened my mouth and “repubblica ceca” came out. (no, this is not one of my little untruths. this is where i am “coming” from.) i think i must have look perplexed as i said this because everyone around me looked equally perplexed. “no, no”, i rushed to add, “i am not really from there”. hesitant nods. sigh. i try “ho partorito in malawi”, which translates into “i gave birth in malawi”. now the polite smiles come in. my attempt to explain: “sono complicato” (i am a complicated (male)), is responded to with a few stifled giggles.

but the truth is, despite making a fool of myself (numerous times over), the group is kind, encouraging, funny. they laugh at each other, not to make fun, but in understanding, in solidarity. we are all far from ‘home’ and although we are ‘foreigners’, we are in a foreign land together – and so, somehow, that makes us locals, in our own world. we correct each other’s mistakes, find words to fill in each other’s gaps, take interest in what each person says…we listen. when you are learning to speak you have no choice but to listen. so we listen, to each other, making sure that no words are left unsaid. even if i end up describing myself as a complicated male who has given birth…in malawi.

pot belly loving.

2010-05-09T00:00:00.000+02:00

one of my favourites from freshly ground.

front seat.

2010-05-03T21:34:00.001+02:00

from roman holiday

this is more like it.

red.

2010-05-02T12:48:00.001+02:00

is it terribly wrong (and totally unfeminist)
that i have always wanted an italian boyfriend

...so that i could ride on the back of his vespa?

ed rodriguez

pranzo.

2010-05-02T12:17:00.000+02:00

reason #337 that i love italy!

sweet light.

2010-04-29T09:58:00.002+02:00

and deep thoughts.

string.

2010-04-28T23:37:00.010+02:00

"So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days, you can hear their chorus rushing past:

IwasabeautifulgirlPleasedon’tgoItoobelievemybodyismadeofglassI’veneverlovedanyoneIthinkofmyselfasfunnyForgiveme...

There was a time when it wasn’t uncommon to use a piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their destinations. Shy people carried a little bunch of string in their pockets, but people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by someone. The physical distance between two people using a string was often small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string.

The practice of attaching cups to the ends of string came much later. Some say it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the still-surviving echo of the world’s first expression. Others say it was started by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a girl who left for

America

When the world grew bigger, and there wasn’t enough string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the vastness, the telephone was invented.

Sometimes no length of string is long enough to say the thing that needs to be said. In such cases all the string can do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person’s silence."

a history of love - n. krauss

a room with a view.

2010-04-26T21:17:00.001+02:00

poppies.

2010-04-21T07:00:00.003+02:00

spring is here!

the sky is falling.

2010-04-19T01:05:00.000+02:00

i tell the truth. okay, i try to tell the truth.

i remember one time during a grad school program interview i was asked whether i had read a certain article by gayatri spivak. to my great amazement i found myself nodding enthusiastically and a very confident 'yes' coming out of my mouth. granted, i had read many of ms. spivak's articles...just not that one. of course, as soon as the tiny word escaped my lips i kicked myself internally, very aware that i would now have no choice but to jump head first into this giant hole i had dug for myself. naturally the professor went on to ask me what it was specifically about this paper that interested me. i remember mumbling some incredibly vague and convoluted strung-together sentences about post colonial feminisms and the subaltern speaking...or not speaking...or something. my face just grew more and more pink and her eyes seemed to widen by the second.

it would have been much easier to just say, "well, actually, no, i have never read that article". sigh.

i promised myself that day that i would always try my very best to speak truth. even those little truths that seem so unimportant.

recently, however, i have been feeling like chicken little. you know, that tragic chicken heroine from the children's story. an acorn falls on her head and she thinks that the sky is falling. instead of looking up to see what hit her, she panics, utterly convinced that the sky will completely collapse on top of her.

what does this have to do with telling the truth? nothing actually. but, in the happily-ever-after version of this tale, the moral of the story is to have courage and not to be a 'little chicken'. (in the other version she is eaten by the wolf and no one lives happily ever after - except the wolf. great.)

courage. speaking truth. even if your voice shakes. even when you are convinced that your words will cause the sky to fall on your head. that is what i am thinking about today.

awake.

2010-04-15T21:34:00.005+02:00

the other night i was having dinner with a group of friends when one person (ahem, little sister!) started going around the table asking each person the simple question: "what is your dream?" a tiny knot of panic formed in my stomach as i realized that sooner or later the question would be asked of me (my dream??!). as i began to listen to the responses, i realized how powerful this small question actually was. naturally there was a lot of laughter and exclamations of "what?! i never knew that!" and "really?", as well as, "do you mean my 'i wanna be a rockstar' dream or my 'save the world' dream?" - resulting, again, in much laughter.

i learned something about each one of these people in my life - a creative dimension - i had never even imagined before. i learned of quiet dreams, exploding dreams, sincere dreams, just-being-born dreams, not yet dreamed dreams - all there, all in different stages of formation, patiently waiting to be born into the world. and i felt a new sense of awe for each person that sat around the table with me.

every few years i write up my wish list. i recently found one that i wrote 5 years ago. it consists of a somewhat random collection of:

if i lived another lifetime i would:
work as a midwife by day
be a professional cellist by night

a few dares:
buy a red bikini (and wear it!)
publish a book of my own poetry and short stories

some easy wishes:
feel the sun on my face
go to bed early at night and wake up every morning as the sun begins to rise
remember to be grateful every day

as well as more long term hopes:
adopt a child
build my own house by the coast
find a job that i really love

when i looked back this list, i ticked off a few items, and then seeing that this was indeed a somewhat sorry state of affairs, decided that if i wanted to feel better about my life, instead of writing a wish list, i would write a 'what i have done' list instead.

this one included things like:
work as a journalist
develop a wonderful relationship with my little brother
finish my MA
form some of the most important friendships of my life
be inspired
travel through southern africa
fall in love
teach creative writing
live in a spanish speaking country
work in a job i love
live through a war
spend quality time with my family
work on a documentary
move to europe
live alone
edit a novel
see the berlin wall
feel the sun on my face
take risks
laugh a lot
and...buy (and wear) a yellow bikini.

i decided that i like these kinds of lists - a lot.

so anyways, this dinner party question made me think about my dreams, my wishes, where i hope to be...what i hope to be. recently i have been desperately trying to become more practical about my dreams (maybe because very few people ever manage to get their dreams funded!) but...then i realize that dreams were never meant to be practical. otherwise no one would ever do anything beyond the ordinary. it also makes me realize that i need to be awake enough to recognize my dreams when i am in fact living them.

so, here's to awake dreaming - both yours and mine.

pink turtle.

2010-04-12T22:17:00.001+02:00

delight [dih-lahyt]

2010-04-12T22:16:00.001+02:00

noun

1. a high degree of pleasure or enjoyment; joy; rapture; glee.

2. something that gives great pleasure or joy.

truth.

2010-04-10T15:11:00.002+02:00

i miss these people.

lusaka.

2010-04-10T14:52:00.003+02:00

the sky here is bigger than anywhere else in the world. okay. i don't know if that is scientifically even possible, and i know that everyone is sick to death of hearing me harp on about the size of the sky. but, seriously, the sky here is big. bigger than anywhere else in the world. i promised my self that i would stop posting pictures of the sky...but i just can't help it. it is so beautiful that it breaks my heart a little.

airport love.

2010-04-06T20:57:00.016+02:00

meet S and D.

i met this gorgeous couple at the airport in johannesburg. okay, i'm lying...a little. i didn't meet them at the aiport. we were sort of at the airport together. and we were sort of about to take a plane together to go on vacation...together. and i have known S my whole life, and D for quite a while too. anyways, this is my blog, so technically i can make things up a little...no?

but just so you know, none of the below is made up.

S is 25. she was born in malawi but is originally iranian. D is 27. he was born in namibia but is originally german-american.

me: how long have you been together and where did you meet?
S: two years. married!
D: and four months! (thoughtful pause) wow.
S: we met in cape town.
D: in mbabatho. but i don't remember her. then we met again in namibia. but i don't remember that either. except that she was wearing a chinese hat.
S: it was a hat from lesotho!

me: so S, what was it about D that attracted you to him?
S: (thinks a little) his energy. his big smile. his warmth.

me: and D, what was it about S that first caught your eye?
D: (immediately) her beautiful body!
S: D!!!
D: and her beautiful face. (pause) and obviously her personality too. (looks worried) why? what was S's answer?
S: D! she is going to put this online! on her blog!
D: what? you didn't tell me that! no no, delete that. you can't put that in.

me: what has been the best thing so far about marriage?
D: having someone to cuddle with!
S: it's about coming home and being able to share the most important and random things with...
D: (interrupts) ...the minute he walks in! (both laugh) no, really. it's having someone who knows everything about me. someone who really knows me. every day.

me: what has surprised you the most about marriage?
D: that it's so easy!
S: yes! it's so easy!
D: except when we are around family! (laughter)
S: and that it's so much fun and actually easy to live with a man.
D: with this man!

me: what do you aspire your marriage to be?
D: i defer to my wife on this question!
S: uplifting!
D: can we consult first? (laughter)
S: joyful. and a bringer of joy to others!

me: so how to you imagine yourselves in 60 years from now?
S: deaf.
D: what?
S: he's already deaf!
D: i will be cantankerous and she will be deaf!
S: we'll both be deaf!
D: we will be retired and cute and in love!
S: and totally deaf!

as we walk towards the gate:
D: you know, really, it was her radiant energy that i noticed first. can't you put that in? (points to the paper napkin i have been writing my notes on) can i blow my nose on that? (turns to S) wait. is your mom going to read this?!

city of my heart.

2010-04-06T01:56:00.003+02:00

destination: SUN

2010-03-17T07:36:00.002+01:00

people, i am crossing the equator and heading straight into SUMMER. i am going to be WARM. the sun is going to SHINE on my face. i am going to see some of my favorite people in the world. and i am going to be smiling the entire time. ummm...can you tell that i'm excited?!

pics by m.khabirpour and shirin.t

number 10.

2010-03-14T16:01:00.005+01:00

this is my brother. he is sweet, gentle, has a wicked sense of humor, and is one the coolest people i know.

he also plays this game.

despite three cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a busted knee, he still is completely passionate about rugby. yes, i am blogging about a game that i don't even understand. or like.

seriously.

i sat this morning on the benches watching. i think i held my breath for 80 minutes straight. every time the ball came near my brother it took all my will power to not stand up and yell at the top of my lungs, "GET! AWAY! FROM! THAT! THING! AS! FAST! AS! YOU! CAN!" i also had to restrain myself from shrieking out to the other kids, "DON'T! YOU! DARE! TOUCH! HIM!!" it also doesn't help that in italian the word for 'come on!' is 'dai!'(pronounced die). so everyone around me is going crazy yelling, "DIE! DIE! DIE!"

clearly this is not my thing.

my brother, on the other hand, faces his tackles with grace and, always after knocking some other guy down, pats him on the shoulder, smiles, and helps him up again.

so, here's to a true gentleman playing a hooligan's game.

only seven.

2010-03-13T09:29:00.003+01:00

from one of my favourite reads.

italia, ti amo.

2010-03-11T22:55:00.003+01:00

fsbbia lecce

because as soon as the sun shines,

and you look out the window,

this is what you see.

cold.

2010-03-11T20:14:00.000+01:00

(just in case there was any doubt.)

photo booth.

2010-03-09T13:42:00.004+01:00

my camera

a (short) film.

2010-03-09T13:41:00.000+01:00

niotillfem

polka dots.

2010-03-08T17:15:00.012+01:00

missed connections

- not only did you introduce me to the wonderful world of knitting. i quickly found myself smitten with you after chatting for a few minutes. despite you mentioning you had a boyfriend. i can only hope he is terminally ill

so that i'll get a shot at knitting something for you one day -

i love this image. its all about connection. simple, fleeting moments of connection. making eye contact. smiling. saying hello. the other day i was on the train looking out the window. the sky was dark and the last rays of the sun were sinking into the ocean creating incredible silver ripples all across the water. the young man sitting next to me had his ipod on and was looking out the window of the opposite carriage, oblivious to the world outside my window. i wanted so much to tap his arm, to point out the beauty of the sky falling into the sea. but i didn't. something in me held me back. so silly. so simple. and so i missed a connection. and he missed an amazing sunset.

best chat message of the day.

2010-02-24T16:40:00.003+01:00

"and we make it a rule that we HAVE to have at least one ice-cream in every place we stop"

also for S.

2010-02-22T16:19:00.000+01:00

do you remember how when we were kids

you knew all the words to this by heart

because we used to watch it every afternoon after school?

THIS ONE is for you!

for my sister. who is 25 today. and whose face i miss.

2010-02-22T06:55:00.001+01:00

sisters

like shoes.

2010-02-21T14:18:00.006+01:00

i wear prayers like shoes

pull em on quiet each morning

take me through the uncertain day

don't know

what might knock me off course

sit up in bed

pull on the right

then the left

before shower before teeth

they were my mama's gift

to walk me through this life

...

ruth forman
busboys and poets

five days.

2010-02-20T22:09:00.013+01:00

melting snow. mint tea. the u-bahn. black olives. the east side gallery. italian coffee. ice-sliding (yes, it is now officially a verb). jeans + berliner philharmoniker = bad idea. stuffing your face with chocolate + running to catch a bus = another bad idea. stairs. lots of them. overflowing creativity. listening to conversations in turkish. walls. many walls. the presence of angels. the light in the cathedral. 3D immersion. sleep deprivation. the consequences of sleep deprivation. lebanese food. living history. prayers. twelve cellos for twelve euros. a pink duvet. graffiti. everywhere. the bush knife. the immensity of silence. remembering. honoring. the we-sell-drawers-only shop. purple gloves. sunshine on my face. lots of laughter. remembering to look up.

gratitude.

2010-01-29T16:46:00.004+01:00

my heart just exploded into a million little pieces.

(image courtesy of the brilliant shirin sahba)

because i am an educator.

2010-01-26T21:06:00.019+01:00

today in my soc class i got bored.

so i took my students to the 'fish tank'

(photocopy room)

and we photocopied our faces.

it was brilliant.

i am sure there is some kind of educational value somewhere in this.

by heart.

2010-01-21T01:31:00.005+01:00

encircled

while waiting in an airport the other day (i seem to spend a lot of my life in airports), i read a quote scratched into the wall: wherever you go, go with all your heart. i've been thinking about that a lot these days. making sure that i try to go everywhere (including my ordinary day to day places) with all my heart. i always feel as though i leave parts of my heart behind in the different towns...cities that i have lived in. fragments fluttering across four continents. it makes me feel as though i go to my next destination with a smaller heart, a more fragile heart, a somewhat falling-a-part-kind-of-heart. but the reality is, my heart is just expanding. with every new person, every new experience, with every new connection, it is like a new piece is added on. go with ALL your heart. its not about leaving behind bits of my heart. its about my heart becoming bigger and fuller. yesterday as i was walking home from the bus stop, i felt as though my heart was going to explode with all the love and multitude of emotions that i was trying to cram into it.

it won't explode.

it will just expand.

tulips.

2009-12-29T14:37:00.004+01:00

tulips

#twit

2009-12-28T17:54:00.004+01:00

Tony Gigov

so, i've tried to tweet.

less is NOT more.
#fail

witnessing revolution.

2009-12-27T23:04:00.016+01:00

creativity and resistance