Nor•mal |nôrmel| adjective

February 08, 2011: Tuesday

The novelty of being away from those I thought I needed is wearing - save, I still, and will always need them. Being here is both making my heart grow fonder - but it is also making it more callused. I feel tugged, and I feel the need to push away - no, rather, let go of the rope that once held me down in a place where my roots took grounding. Letting go and letting my clipped wings repair the cuts they've been so accustomed to endure as a way of life - but now is my time. Now is the time for me to allow air to be rushed under and for sights to be engulfed by these cameras I call my eyes.

Though, it seems to difficult to capture what I now find so normal... my life here has it's moments of newness - but in actuality - not having my car, but rather a bike; dirt paths, not paved roadways; donkeys as a mode for shipping things, not trucks; and then children wandering, mothers carrying basins of water on their heads with a baby strapped to their back, men knocking down walls with a small device called a dabah (always barefoot), women pounding grains (all day), people of all ages taking a squat anywhere they please... it's an endless list of things that were so new to me, but now are just normal life. It is not new. It is not strange. It is my life and I don't know how to convey these things to my audience back home and "be excited" about it.

My flight here has plummeted to a steady plateau that may not interest me in recording the basics. I sleep in a tent. I eat rice or maccarroni or tô ALL the time. I drink "watered down" beers more than I should. I speak at least 3 languages daily. I read, cook, write by lantern or headlamp. I do not have a toilet. I bathe out of a bucket. I do not have a grocery store anywhere near where I live. I shop from men and women who sit on the ground under big trees. I do not have running water. I do not have electricity. My feet are callused. My knees and above must ALWAYS be covered when in public. My arms are darker than the rest of my body. I do not have internet in the vicinity of at least 50km from my house. I ride my bike to get vegetables 27km away every 3 to 6 days (one way). I love waking up to hear my neighbors working. I am confused the majority of the day. My conversations usually involve a lot of questions about family, work, house and then confused looks of "I don't understand." I have to bike to a manual pump to fetch my water.

Normal. What is normal when one's world is so diverse?

I want to experience every kind of normal that exists.

I want to experience the world as it is.

I want to soar & fly & dip & crash.

I want to recover.

Life is Too Fast

Life is quite the trickster.

She doesn't care what you've planned.

She doesn't take into consideration what emotions you may have.

Life, she is not one to sympathize. She just deals you the cards, and expects you to sort them out accordingly. These cards are subject to change, delay, distortion and minimize or exceed one's care to deal with. Yet - they are there, and you must pick them up. You have to always keep in mind that Life is not here to give you an easy path. She wants you to learn. She wants you to hurt. She knows that without the hurt, there is no growth.

And this is what she has given my parents today: a bittersweet occurrence. She has laid out a new opportunity for them, in particularly my mom. They were overjoyed and wanted to celebrate. Life then decided to take away that joy. She twisted and turned the world - and into the cool water fell our dog. He fell into his death. Into a vast ocean of terror. What fright he must've felt as he struggled to paddle his way out of the harsh and unforgiving mass. With no one there but his sister. She panting there, whining with no opposable thumbs. No arms to hold him. To scoop him out of the cold grip. Just short minutes and he must've submitted to Life's twin brother. And into the liquid cage dove my father, to save his dog, save that life, his breath, was not there.

Questions stir through all of our heads. They come and go. They are quick, and yet they linger.

Life, she is cruel. She is short. She is fast. She is thoughtful - and unforgiving. Death comes quickly, and it's time that I come to terms with this. It's cruel, but it is there. It is beautiful and ugly. It is all the same, and yet, so vast a diverse.

Heavy Lids

This has become a habit. I am staying up late, and still waking up early. My bed is always calling, but I seem to ignore it. I wait until wee hours of the morning to creep into bed - yet, still I lay. I do not fall asleep right away. I think. think. think.

I can't pin-point what I'm thinking about. Mostly, I suppose, about the life I'll live in Africa. I'm also getting homesick which is very odd. I don't know if I've ever been homesick since I was little. And when I say little - I mean since I was living in Kingwood :: that's before 3rd grade! I'm also thinking about packing - yet, I haven't been able to bring myself to start loading up my possessions...really, my life. I think that's what's holding me back - I don't want to pack my life I know into boxes just yet.

Time is passing, and I'm refusing to acknowledge the fact. I am not second-guessing my decision, I just didn't think it would come this quickly.

My eyelids are heavy.
Yet my heart is still fluttering with excitement.
and terror.

Earth: It's Time We Met

One of the things I've been looking forward to is living to live...not to obtain unnecessary materials, not to earn money just to spend it, not to focus on my social standing in this pretentious country we live in...but instead - living to live. I've been one to get swept away by all of the things that don't much matter: things like clothes, electronics, image, social gatherings, money and just materialistic aspects of this world...and I'll tell you one thing - I don't like it. Yet, by saying I don't like it would be somewhat of a lie. Who wouldn't want to live such a lavish life to not care about anyone by yourself, your materials, loved one and what you'll be doing to have fun? But that is an empty life. Such a life would not make me happy - sure, I'd be entertained all the time, and envied by others, and loved by many - but this will not make me happy if I am not living. In my opinion - those who do not yearn to help, those who are selfish to the pure extent of definition: is not living, but is dead.

So what I'm really looking forward to is living to live. I want to feel the Earth move, and I want to dance with it. I want to shed myself of the things that should not be of sole importance, and I want to really see what it means to live with the bare necessities. I want to work for what I get. I want to harvest the crops with the villagers. I want to have my clothing made, and then learn to make my own. I want to use my legs as my engine to get me from here to there. I want to see what life is like when all you do is live.

So I found this journal entry by John Dessereau's blog (which I got from one of New York's photographers: Brock Fetch's blog. - Yes, I'm sneaky. And am trying to follow lots of artists). This journal entry made my heart glow. I love it. I love that someone else has realized that the earth, and nature are missing ingredients in peoples' everyday mixture of life, love and business.